


Nothing But Trouble

by hannigirl



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Explicit Language, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Slow Burn, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Violence, so much drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-07-10 01:12:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15938681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannigirl/pseuds/hannigirl
Summary: Sandra Donahue was just trying to make it through life in Vault 101. She didn't want all of her peers to hate her. She didn't want to get involved with Butch DeLoria. She definitely didn't want to become the center of attention. She didn't want a lot of things, but she got them anyway. AU where James doesn't leave the vault when the Lone Wanderer is 19, and life goes on... for a while.





	1. Pissed Off Snakes

**Author's Note:**

> I'll update the tags as I go along. There might be some non-con in the future, but in this chapter there are just threats of it.

Her G.O.A.T. results concluded that she should be the next vault chaplain.

          “—Which is nice,” the Overseer had told her, “but we also need someone to run the commissary. Do you think you’ll be able to handle that, Miss Donahue?”

          “Yes, sir,” she remembered saying that day. She had been handed two of the easiest jobs in the vault, serving in both positions would still leave her with immeasurable free time. Hardly anyone used the services of the chaplain anymore, and the commissary was only busy right after pay day. On the upside, filling two roles meant she got an extra 25 ration coupons per month, something the Overseer provided begrudgingly.

* * *

 

          _That was six years ago,_ she remembered, leaning on the counter of her shop. Now she was 22, and her guess had been right when she started: these jobs provided her with plenty of downtime. Sandy spent a lot of time playing games on her Pip-Boy, she was pretty sure she held the high score in the vault for Atomic Command. When the games got boring, she turned to books. Novels weren’t really her thing, though she had read her fair share. Sandy would read any non-fiction she could get her hands on: history books, medical texts, you name it. She liked knowing things which nobody else cared to learn. It helped keep her mind sharp while doing jobs that didn’t require a lot of brain power.

          Her wandering thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of her best friend.

          “Hey, Sandy,” Amata greeted, coming in to lean on the other side of the counter, mirroring her friend.

          “Hey, Ams. How was your shift?” Sandy asked. While she was stuck working two boring jobs, Amata had been given a supervisor position, much to no one’s surprise.

          “The usual, my father talked, I listened. Then I made my rounds. The vault is calm as ever,” she sighed. “Anyone even come in here today?” Amata asked, looking around.

          “Ellen DeLoria bought a bottle of vodka, sugar, and some eggs. Other than that, it’s just been me all day,” Sandy rolled her eyes, continuing after a short pause, “So, you and Freddie got any plans tonight?” Her friend had been dating Freddie Gomez on and off for nearly three years. She had figured by now Amata would have a ring on her finger, after all, there weren’t very many choices for love in Vault 101. Other than Freddie, there were only three other boys their age, and they were all in a gang, ‘The Tunnel Snakes,’ they liked to call themselves: Wally Mack, Paul Hannon, and Butch DeLoria. Wally’s sister Susie had been known to run around with both Paul and Butch, though no one would ever tell him that. Sandy didn’t know what Wally and Christine Kendall got up to, but based on the rumors surrounding Christine, she guessed it was very explicit.

          Amata giggled. “We’re going to go to Freddie’s, maybe listen to a little music, have some coffee, relax a little.”

          “Oh sure,” Sandy laughed, “you two are going to have _coffee_.”

          Her friend winked before going on, “I mean, he’s got his own compartment! It’s not like we get that luxury, and I want to take advantage of the privacy.”

          “You ever think about how sexist that rule is?” Sandy asked, “I mean, when the guys turn 20 they’re allowed to move out and have their own compartments away from family, but we still have to live with our parents until we’re married? It’s totally bogus! I’m gonna have to live with my dad forever!” She dragged her hands over her face and groaned.

          “It does stink, but hopefully it’s not forever, right? One day you’ll find the guy for you!” Amata responded, cheerfully.

          “Oh yeah? I’m gonna find him among my many choices? One of the Tunnel Snakes, perhaps? Or sickly little Steve Armstrong? Maybe psycho Stevie Mack? You know, you’re right, Amata, the prospects are looking good!”

          “You know you don’t have to be so cynical. They might grow up one day. So you’ll only have to live with your dad for… thirty more years,” Amata said, both girls breaking out in laughter.

          As it was the end of the day, Sandy decided it was as good of a time as any to close up shop. She and Amata walked next door to the chaplain’s office, a room that was really only used when Sandy needed some privacy or a place to sleep off a hangover. It had been more than eight months since anyone in the vault needed any spiritual guidance; and even then it had been Wally, come in as a joke to ask what specific sexual positions would send him to hell.

          “At least you have an office when you need some privacy, I don’t even have that! My office is just a desk inside my father’s office,” Amata offered.

          “I suppose,” Sandy considered, sitting down on the couch which was supposed to be used for counseling, but was actually used when she needed a nap. “But you have a boyfriend with his own place, and my best marriage prospect is Andy!” The girls laughed and were imagining her wedding to the Mr. Handy when the door slid open. In walked Wally, Paul, and Butch.

          “Hey, nosebleed, open the commissary back up, we need some cigarettes,” Butch called, flipping open his lighter for emphasis.

          “Aww,” Sandy looked up, mock disappointment on her face, “and here I thought you three were finally ready to turn your hearts back to the Lord!” Amata laughed, but the guys either didn’t get the joke or didn’t acknowledge it. Her voice dropped to a disinterested monotone, “Sorry, fellas. Store’s closed. Come back in the morning.”

          “You complete wet rag; it’s only 7:30, just give us some damn cigarettes!” Wally spoke up this time.

          “My deepest apologies, truly, but once I close that door for the night, it stays closed. If you wanted them that bad, you should have had Butch’s mom pick them up with her daily bottle of hooch,” Sandy shrugged.

          “Sandy!” Amata gasped next to her. She knew she shouldn’t have said it, but the guys were going to give her a hard time either way, she might as well get in a few good jabs while she could.

          “You got something to say about my mom, you bitch?” Butch threatened, stepping toward her and pulling out his switchblade.

          “I said what I said, asshole.” She reached behind the couch and grabbed her baseball bat, weighing it in her hands to appear more menacing, “Now get out of my office before I send you to the clinic.”  
          “If you think this is over, you’ve got it all fuckin’ wrong,” Butch warned as he and the other two turned and walked out, he and Wally throwing vicious glares back toward the girls.

          When they were gone for good, Amata spoke up, “How do you two still hate each other? Hasn’t it gone on for long enough? I mean, you and Butch have been fighting constantly for 17 years.”

          Sandy slid the bat back behind the couch before she answered. “I don’t hate him,” she paused to think and continued, “As a matter of fact, I don’t see him very often at all anymore. His mom—when she’s sober, mind you—does almost all of his shopping. As you know, I haven’t gone to the salon in years. So I really only pass him in the halls when he’s hanging out with his cronies. I don’t hate him—“ Amata pulled a face, “I don’t! He just gets on my last fucking nerve every time I see him, and we haven’t had a proper fist fight since we were in school, and maybe I’m itching for one.”

          “You had better be careful, looking to pick a fight like that,” her friend reasoned, “We aren’t in school anymore, and Butch is a lot bigger than you now. And I’m not sure what he might do to you if he happens to catch you alone. Although, I suppose if any girl in the vault can hold her own against Butch DeLoria, it’d be you,” Amata smiled.

          They talked and gossiped for a while longer before Amata had to go and meet Freddie. Sandy gathered her things and put them in her bag before walking out and locking the door behind her. She looked down at her Pip-Boy, and it was already after 8. Walking quickly to the diner, she hoped to grab a bite to eat before she went back to her family compartment for the night.

          She grabbed a Nuka Cola and a sandwich from Andy, and was just about to sit down when she felt a hand on her waist. She turned and looked to find the hand attached to Butch, who then walked to her other side, so that his arm was wrapped around her. “Why don’t you come sit down and talk with the ‘fellas,’ sweetcheeks?” He whispered, a threatening look in his eye. Sandy was just about to tell him off—and possibly deck him—when she spotted the Overseer, sitting nearby, clearly watching her. He was the only person in the vault who hated her more than Butch, though she never really knew why. Not wanting to cause a scene, and thinking that perhaps Butch had been smart enough to corner her here on purpose, she turned and faced the boy.

          “Sure,” she replied through gritted teeth, “lead on.” His fingers dug into her side, hard enough that she was sure they would bruise come tomorrow. He led her to the booth, populated by the other two members of his gang. Wally looked pissed, Paul simply looked indifferent. Sandy had always assumed he just went along with whatever his friends did. He clearly wasn’t the mastermind behind any of their plans. Butch slid in, and then motioned for her to do the same.

          “Well? Don’t just stand there all day, nosebleed!” he jabbed. She took a seat next to Butch, a sour look on her face. She caught a strong whiff of alcohol, and ventured a guess that what was in their glasses wasn’t water.

          “You break into your mom’s stash, DeLoria? She’s going to be so disappointed when she realizes there’s none left for her!” she sneered. Immediately she felt his hand grab her upper thigh…hard. No one could see he had done it, under the table as it was, but she let out a small squeal from the pain and the shock.

          Wally’s face changed from anger to delight in an instant, it had been a while since there had been a physical altercation to bring him joy, it seemed. Butch’s face remained vitriolic. “You really aren’t gonna learn your lesson, are you?”

          “Maybe she just needs something better to do with her mouth, since she can’t ever seem to keep it shut,” Wally offered, a horrible grin across his face.

          “Now wouldn’t that be something to see,” Butch laughed, using his grip on her thigh to pull her closer to him, then putting his arm around her and holding her uncomfortably tight, “Not having to hear her smart-ass comments, because she’s too busy choking on a Tunnel Snake’s tunnel snake.”

          “Leave me alone, you fucking psychos,” Sandy muttered, blushing and trying to wiggle free, but Butch only tightened his grip. Amata was right; he was a lot stronger than he was when they used to fight in school.

          “Look at her, she’s embarrassed!” Paul pointed out.

          “Aw, you scared, little virgin?” Wally sneered, “Don’t worry, we wouldn’t want to rough you up too much. You’ve actually filled out that vault suit pretty nice since we all left school, I never noticed. Figure like that, I may even enjoy myself.”

          Sandy could feel all three of them looking her up and down, and she felt violated. For the first time in her life, she felt like she should have just given in, just given them the damn cigarettes. Then she wouldn’t have to go through this torment.

          “What do you say,” Butch whispered in her ear, the strong smell of alcohol rolling off his breath, “you take us back to the commissary, give us a carton of cigarettes—free of charge, for our troubles of course—and then we take this party back to Wally’s for some…entertainment?”

          “Guys, I really don’t think—“ Paul began, but he was interrupted by the other gang members both telling him to can it.

          Sandy opened her mouth, not sure what she was going to say, but she knew she had to say something. “I—“

          “Is everything okay here?” a voice above them asked. All four looked up to see Jonas, her father’s medical assistant, standing over the table.

          Butch loosened his grip on Sandy and spoke for the Tunnel Snakes, “Yeah, egghead. We’re doing just fine here, so if you don’t mind leaving—“

          “Sandy?” Jonas asked.

          “Actually, Jonas, I think you’d better walk me home,” she spoke, wrenching herself from Butch’s arm, “Hate to ruin the evening, gentlemen, but it’s late and a girl needs her beauty sleep. Your cigarettes will be available for purchase at the commissary in the morning.”

          She walked off with Jonas toward her home, leaving her food behind, having completely lost her appetite. When they were almost there, he grabbed her arm and stopped her in the hallway.

          “What was going on back at the diner? You’re not cozying up to those boys, are you?” he inquired with a skeptical look.

          “No. Just the same old adolescent drama. You know the deal,” she tried to brush it off, not meeting Jonas’s eyes.

          “Really? Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look that distressed. And you didn’t even eat anything.”

          “It was nothing,” Sandy said, but she could see Jonas wouldn’t take that as a response, “they didn’t try anything. I’ll be fine. I appreciate your concern, but I can handle those boys. Always have. Just… don’t tell my dad, okay? I’d… hate for him to worry about something dumb like this.” Sandy’s eyes started to well up, but she refused to let the tears fall.

          “Hey, hey, I’m on your side, okay? I won’t say a word if you don’t want me to.” He pulled her into a tight hug, “I’m always in your corner, Sandy.”

          She broke the hug after a few moments and turned to head into her compartment, pausing briefly in the doorway and turning back “Jonas… thank you,” she said, not waiting for a response before she went inside.


	2. Drinking Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandy gets drunk with someone unexpected.

 

          Sandy spent a large portion of the evening in the bathroom she shared with her father. First she just sat on the floor and cried. It had been a long time since they had gotten to her like that, and the threat had never before seemed that real. She felt completely violated, but she knew there was nothing she could do about it. What would she even tell security? That the dreaded Tunnel Snakes had threatened to assault her? That one of them put his arm around her a little rough? They would laugh her right out of the office. They would tell her that they were “just boys being boys” or that “they want your attention because they like you,” or one of the other things they say to dismiss the poor behavior of men. Not to mention, both Paul and Wally had family working in security. They were damn near invincible.

          After her tears had stopped, she stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. Wiping her eyes, she took a really good look at her face, rubbed at it with her hands and tried to see it from multiple angles. She didn’t think she looked all that different from how she looked in her later school years. The only big change was her hair. Back then, before Butch DeLoria became the only hairdresser in the vault, she used to have it dyed blonde. She really liked the way it looked, but once Beatrice turned in her comb and scissors, she had to give it up, letting it grow back to its natural chestnut brown. There was no way she would let that awful bully go anywhere near her hair. So she had learned to cut it herself in the past few years. It took quite a few tries to get it to look presentable, and even now she wished she could have it done by a real professional again.

          Sandy pulled off her vault suit, and stood in the bathroom in just her bra and underwear. She stepped back to take a look at her body, turning from side to side to get different views. Though what Wally said to her was as terrifying as it was repulsive, she wanted to know if there really was a noticeable difference in her figure. She supposed her chest had become a little fuller, and more rounded, but it definitely wasn’t above average, and that had started while they were still in school. Her waistline was trim, but not tight like the women she’d seen in old movies. The biggest difference she could tell was from her butt down. She definitely had a plumper backside than when she was sixteen or even eighteen. Her legs were pretty long; she was 5’8” after all, one of the taller girls in the vault. She’d been that height for well over eight years, though, having hit a huge growth spurt when she was 14. It took a while for even the boys her age to catch up, but they did. Butch, Wally, and Paul were now all over 6 feet tall. They definitely weren’t the gangly teens they had been before. She hadn’t thought much about it, thankfully Amata did. What was Sandy thinking, trying to pick fights with them? _You’re so stupid_ , she thought.

          She looked at her waist and thigh, they were already starting to darken, the individual outlines of Butch’s fingers bruising on her skin. She couldn’t hold back a shudder.

* * *

 

         The next morning, Sandy opened up the commissary around 8am. She sat in her chair behind the counter, reading a textbook she found about old world government structures.

         Around 8:30, Paul walked in, alone, and came up to the counter. Sandy eyed him up and down, and didn’t try to conceal her hostility. “What do you want?”

         “I just came to get the cigarettes,” he said plainly. She got up and walked over to the shelf they were on, retrieving them, and handing them to Paul. He handed her the right amount of ration coupons, but didn’t leave after the transaction.

         “What?” Sandy asked coldly.

         “I feel like I should warn ya,” he began, “Butch wasn’t serious last night. He was drunk, and he can be an ass, but he wouldn’t really do anything like that to you. I swear, he was just trying to rile you up, for insulting his ma.”

         “That’s not a warning,” she replied.

         “No,” he took a deep breath, “The warning is about Wally… I’m pretty sure he wasn’t joking. Listen, I know those guys, okay? Butch called you a few names after you left with Jonas, but he dropped it. Wally kept going, talking about the things he’d do to you. Some of it was real bad, and that’s coming from one of his best friends.”

         “Well,” Sandy spoke, uncomfortably, “thanks for the heads up.”

         “I’m serious. Don’t let him get you alone, _especially_ if he’s in a bad mood,” Paul said. “And don’t you go telling anyone I said something, alright?”

         “Yeah… thanks,” she mumbled as Paul walked out.

         Paul’s tip only succeeded in confusing Sandy and making her feel worse. Butch had always been the source of her torment, with Wally being more of an echo of his friend. It was distressing to her that she would now have to worry about coming across either one of them.   

* * *

 

         Over the course of the day, she had a few more customers than usual. Among others, Vikki Hannon needed toothpaste and carrots and Allen Mack came in to buy a six pack of Nuka Cola. Ellen DeLoria came back again, and Sandy took her opportunity to dig for some info.

         “Ms. DeLoria, how are you? How’s Butch?” she asked, trying to seem genuinely curious.

         “Oh, I’m just fine, honey. Living the dream, as they say,” the woman chuckled before continuing, “It’s so nice of you to ask about my Butchie, nobody ever does. He’s doing swell, I suppose. Really takes pride in being a barber, that boy just loves his work!”

         “Wow, well they say the G.O.A.T. is never wrong,” she placated, giving Ellen a small smile.

         “Oh it’s such a shame for you though, sweetie. I’m sure being chaplain would be a wonderful job in a full vault, but with so few of us here? Plus I don’t think anyone is too religious anymore…” Ellen trailed off.

         “A shepherd always wants a larger flock,” Sandy laughed, “But between you and me, I don’t mind the silence. If my office were always full, who would run this lovely little store?”

         “Well, I’m glad you’re here, you always brighten up my day! Just in for the usual today,” Ellen said.

         “So sorry, Ms. DeLoria,” Sandy started, “we’re out of vodka, and I’m not allowed to open another crate until the end of the month, Overseer’s orders. Anything you’d prefer to substitute?”

         “Oh,” the woman’s face fell, “Scotch, then.”

         Sandy winked, “Coming right up.” She walked over and unlocked the cabinet that liquor was stored in, pulling out a bottle and locking back up. She exchanged with the woman, and gave her a smile.

         Ellen DeLoria offered her thanks, and walked out of the commissary. Sandy had intended to use Butch’s mom for some dirty secrets, or leverage perhaps, but instead she found she actually enjoyed chatting with her. She might be piss-drunk most of the time, but when she came into the commissary, it was always pre-binge. After all, someone had to provide her with the booze.

         A few moments later, she reappeared in the doorway. Sandy looked up, and Ellen began to speak, “Do you know how to bake, Sandy?”

         That was not what the girl expected to hear. “No, ma’am, I can’t say I do.”

         “Do you want to learn?” Ellen raised her brow, and Sandy just blinked. “I have to make a birthday cake for Butchie, and I wouldn’t mind some company,” she raised the bottle of scotch, “We could crack this baby open and make it a party.”

         Sandy responded before she thought, “Sounds fun, Ms. DeLoria, I’m in.”

         “Great,” the woman smiled, “Be at my compartment at 8!” She started to walk away again, then poked her head back in, “And call me Ellen.”

         Ellen finally left, and Sandy found herself staring at nothing. Did she just agree to hang out and get drunk with Butch’s mom?  The woman had a bad reputation in the vault, she was a notorious drunk, and there were plenty of rumors floating around about her promiscuity. She was a bit younger than most of the parents in the vault, and no one really knew who Butch’s dad was; that made it a lot easier for the gossip to fly. There were only two things she could think of that they both had in common: knowing Butch, and an affinity for vodka. But she had just been thinking how pleasant the conversation had been. _Well, if we run out of conversation topics, we can just get drunk in silence,_ Sandy thought.

         “Oh, brother,” she groaned.

* * *

 

         The rest of her shift went by too quickly, like the universe knew she was dreading what she had previously agreed to. Around 7:50, she gathered her things and locked up the store. She figured that she could stop by her own home for a quick bite to eat before she made her way to the DeLoria residence.

         When she walked in the door to her home, she found that her father was already there. She walked past him with a quick “hi, Dad!” and set her stuff down in her bedroom. She fixed herself a bowl of Sugar Bombs, and sat down at the table, shoving them into her mouth.

         “Woah, there,” James said, “Slow down, you don’t need to inhale them.”

         “Can’t, dad,” she mumbled, mouth full of cereal, “I gotta help Ellen bake a cake.”

         “You’re going to help Ellen Deloria bake a cake? That’s… interesting,” her father responded slowly, clearly surprised.

         Sandy shrugged, “She asked, I said yes,” She swallowed her last bite and set the bowl down, “I don’t know. It might be fun. Only one way to find out.” She got up and gave her father a kiss on the top of the head before walking out, “Be back later,” she called over her shoulder.

         She walked through the halls and made it to Ellen’s compartment, knocking on the door before it slid open. The woman turned around and smiled, “You made it! Good! Ready to get started?”

         “Let’s dive in,” Sandy laughed. Ellen handed her an apron which matched the one the woman was already wearing. Then she picked up the bottle of scotch from her table, opening it and pouring out two glasses. Sandy tied the apron around her waist and then took the glass handed to her.

         “Bottoms up,” Ellen said cheerily, draining her glass quickly. Sandy tried to do the same. It took her a little longer, and she pulled a face as the liquor made its way down her throat. The older woman laughed, “Have you ever had a drink, honey?”

         Sandy nodded, “Yeah, I just don’t like the taste of whisky.”

         “Well,” Ellen told her, “the more you drink, the less you feel.” She poured them two more glasses. “Let’s get baking!”

         The two women got down to business, baking and drinking in equal part. Sandy found that she was having a lot more fun with Ellen than she had assumed she would. After the second glass of scotch set in, Sandy was feeling nice and loose, stirring the cake batter while Ellen told her a rather unbelievable story from her youth.

         “And there I was in the middle of the night, in just my underthings, standing in the Overseer’s office. On a dare from Edwin Brotch, no less!” Ellen spoke enthusiastically, taking a sip from her fourth or fifth glass.

         Sandy set the bowl and spoon down to take a drink from her own glass, laughing. She picked them back up and resumed stirring, “So what happened after that?!”

         “Well, I was supposed to sing the entire national anthem, but I wasn’t exactly sober, was I? So I accidentally—“

         “MA?! WHAT THE HELL?” Both women looked up to see Butch standing in the doorway. He looked pissed.

         “Butchie, why are you raising your voice?” his mother looked startled at the sudden loud noise.

         “What the hell is she doing here?” he gestured to Sandy, still holding the cake batter, having completely forgotten about the stirring.

         “I invited her. Sandy is helping me bake your birthday cake, honey,” Ellen said.

         “What?! Little nosebleed’s gonna poison it!” Butch shouted.

         “Oh, you,” his mother began, waving her hand dismissively and finishing her drink before filling it again, “Don’t you barge into _my_ compartment and be rude to _my_ guest!”

         “Yeah, sure, Ma. Whatever,” his tone was biting. He walked over to where Sandy stood, in the tiny compartment kitchenette. She set the mixing bowl on the counter behind her and picked up her glass. The arm that wasn’t holding her scotch she had crossed over her chest.

         Butch lowered his voice so that his mother couldn’t hear, “Tell me what the fuck you’re doing here.”

         Sandy laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder, “Ellen and I are having fun, Butch, what’s your fucking problem?”

         “You and _Ellen_ are having fun? That’s rich coming from someone who couldn’t stop insulting her just last night,” he spat.

         She shrugged and polished off her glass, “I was wrong. Your mom is fun.” On a whim, she reached up and twirled the piece of his hair that fell in his face around her finger, he tensed up but didn’t say anything. “You might be fun too, if you weren’t such an ass,” Sandy teased. She dropped her hand before he could swat it away, running her fingertips down the length of his arm before letting her own arm hang by her side. _Holy shit, his biceps are firm,_ she thought. Then she made her way over to his mom for a refill. Butch stayed rooted where he was, not even turning around.;

         “Oh, sorry, hun! We’ve finished her up. Too bad you’ve closed the store, I could go for a spot more,” Ellen said when Sandy sat next to her with an empty glass.

         The girl jumped up again, “Ooh! I know! I’ve got something stashed away in my room!”

         Ellen seemed almost giddy, “Why don’t you go grab it, and I’ll put the cake in the oven in the meantime!”

         “Okay, I’ll be back in a minute,” Sandy said, nearly bounding out the door in excitement. She was nearly halfway down the hall before she realized Butch had followed after her.

         “Hey!” he shouted, “Nosebleed, stop! Sandy, wait!”

         She turned to face him, “Stop trying to ruin the fun, Butch, okay? I just want to get plastered with your mom, and bake you a birthday cake, and have a little fun. Why do you have to try to ruin everything?!”

         “Hey, earth to moron: you ever think you’ve had enough to drink?” Butch started, “Maybe take it easy your first go around, find out whether you can even handle your booze.”

         “And what makes you think this is my first time, huh? ‘ _Nosebleed doesn’t have any friends, everyone in the vault hates her, she’s an ugly virgin, she must not know what alcohol tastes like, ‘cause she’s such a loser!’_  You think, with all the things people say about me, that I wouldn’t have any reason to get nice and drunk once in a while?” Sandy spat. She continued down the hall, making it to her compartment door before Butch stopped her again, grabbing her arm before she could go inside.

         “What do you mean ‘you get nice and drunk once in a while’?” he asked.

         “I mean,” she turned and poked a finger to his chest, “I can handle my sauce, Butch. And when I feel like getting drunk alone in my office after hours, nothing bad ever happens. When I pass out on the couch at the end of the night, I know no one else is gonna get hurt because of me,” she jabbed, before walking into her house.

         She emerged a minute later carrying a bottle full of clear liquid. She twisted the cap off and took a swig right from the bottle, feeling the burn as it went down her throat. She started back for Ellen’s, Butch keeping pace with her the whole way.

         “If you had vodka this whole time, why were you and my Ma drinking scotch?” he asked as they walked.

         “This isn’t vodka,” she replied flatly. Butch grabbed the bottle from her, taking a swig himself.

         “Eugh,” he coughed after swallowing it, “What is that? Even for liquor, it tastes like shit!”

         “It’s called tequila. I found it in an old supply crate. I think it’s the only bottle in the whole vault. Never saw one before I found it, haven’t seen one since,” she said, grabbing the bottle back from his hand and taking another drink.

         “How long have you had this stashed at home?”

         Sandy shrugged, “I don’t know. Three years, maybe?” He stopped her again, less than ten yards from his mother’s door. “I swear to God, DeLoria, if you grab my arm one more time I’m gonna kick you so hard—“

         “Stop drinking,” he said, simply. Sandy looked up at him, his brow was furrowed and he had an expression of complete seriousness. She blinked a few times before she realized he wasn’t kidding.

         “Oh, that is just _rich_ coming from you, telling me to stop drinking. You know, where do you get off—“

         “I’m not kidding. This—“ he grabbed the bottle from her hand and shook it for emphasis, “this is not the kind of thing you want to get wrapped up in.”

         “To think, a _DeLoria_ is telling me to quit drinking. How about you, Butchie? How about last night, when you got drunk with your friends and harassed me? How about that? Why don’t _you_ quit drinking?” she argued, voice rising.

         “I shouldn’t have said those things, but you aren’t entirely blameless either, princess. I know the goddamn difference between having a few with my buddies and passing out in my office alone!” Sandy opened her mouth to speak, but Butch continued, voice much louder than before, “You wanna end up like her? So fuckin’ tanked that you can’t even remember who your son’s father is? Spending every spare ration coupon you have on vodka? You think the entire vault hates you now, nosebleed? Just pile on top of it that you’d become the new vault drunk. Hey, but at least you’d be _fun_ , right? That make it all worth it?!”

         Sandy tried to come up with something to say in response, but her brain refused to help her out. Instead, Butch continued, “You know why she’s been coming in to the commissary every day to buy booze? It’d be so much easier for her to just stock up all at once. Think about it. You wanna know the reason, Sandy?” He waited for her to say something.

         “I…I don’t know…” she mumbled.

         “You might make your bitchy comments about her drinking problem to me, but you clearly don’t say anything like that to her. She told me as much. Aside from me, you’re the only fuckin’ person in this vault who doesn’t treat her like shit. Those were her words. Is that what you want? To have there be only two people in the world who can even tolerate being around you? If that’s what you want, then fine, take back your goddamn bottle,” he finished, again waiting for Sandy to say something.

         She couldn’t look up, couldn’t meet his eyes. “Tell Ellen I got sick and stayed back at home. She can keep the tequila,” she mumbled before starting her way back to her compartment.

 

 


	3. Dinner and a Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandy makes her mess of a life a little messier

          The next morning, Sandy put a note on the commissary door, “In the chaplain’s office, come see me if you need to make a purchase.”

          She was lying on her couch with a damp washcloth over her eyes; her Pip-Boy was playing an Elvis holotape from its place on the desk. This wasn’t a particularly bad hangover, but she had a million thoughts running through her head. So many out of the ordinary things had happened the night before, and she couldn’t decide which was the most mortifying.

          As if on cue, Amata walked in, shoving a snack cake in her mouth as she did. “What’s up, stranger?” she asked, plopping down in the desk chair and turning off the music. Sandy just groaned. She hadn’t seen Amata since two nights prior, and had to fill her in on everything. _Reliving it might be worse,_ she thought.

          “Okay. But please, hold all comments until the end, or I might not be able to make it through the whole story without dying,” Sandy said.

          Amata joined her on the couch, and she launched into the tale: the confrontation with the Tunnel Snakes in the diner as well as baking and drinking with Ellen. The friend was unable to hold her comments, letting some very colorful exclamations fly throughout the story.

          “I’m going to tell you a very specific detail, Amata, and I need you to tell me how bad it is, okay?” Sandy led in.

          “Ok…” her friend agreed, confused.

          “When Butch came over to me in his mom’s compartment, he was standing really close to me, and I… well, because I thought it would be funny… You know that lock of hair he has curled down, you know? The little curl over his forehead?” she muttered.

          “ _Please_ tell me you cut it off,” Amata interrupted.

          “No—I don’t have a death wish—I just like… reached up and started twirling it around my finger, and then I just… ran my fingertips down his arm, like this,” she demonstrated on her friend.

          Amata’s jaw dropped, “What did he do?”

          “He didn’t do anything! He just stood there! Then I walked away and he still didn’t move a muscle!” Sandy persisted.

          “What made you do a thing like that?!” Amata burst out.

          “I told you, I was tipsy! Ellen DeLoria doesn’t play around when it comes to drinking, and I was trying to keep up, so I had a lot!” Amata didn’t know the complete extent of Sandy’s alcoholic indulgences, and unfortunately, to get to the juiciest part of the conversation she would have to enlighten her, just… not yet.

          “You’re telling me that you were tipsy enough to flirt with Butch DeLoria?” her friend gaped.

          “That is NOT what happened!” Sandy shrieked. “I was _not_ flirting with him,” she said, quieter this time.

          “Oh yeah,” Amata accused, “did you say anything to him?”

          “I told him he was an ass!”

          “What were your exact words?” she insisted.

          “I told him I thought his mom was fun, and then I said something along the lines of ‘you’d be fun too, if you weren’t such an ass,’” Sandy explained.

          “How did you say it?”

          Sandy rolled her eyes, “oh come on, Ams! It wasn’t flirting! I thought it would be funny!”

          “This,” Amata started, running her fingertips down Sandy’s arm for emphasis, “isn’t humor. This is flirting, whether you meant to or not.” The girl grinned.

          “Okay, well before you start teasing me for that, I have more to tell you, and it starts with an admission I’m not proud of,” Sandy continued.

          “That you have a schoolgirl crush on Butch DeLoria?” Amata laughed.

          “NO.  You know how occasionally when I need to relax, I’ll have a couple of drinks in my office before going home?” Sandy mumbled.

          “Yeah?”

          “It’s a little more than occasionally…” Sandy began her story, only briefly interrupted by her friend’s concerned lecture. She relayed how she left Ellen’s to get more to drink, how Butch followed her and their conversation—or rather, argument—in the hall.

          “Wow,” Amata replied, shocked.

          “That’s all you’ve got to say?” Sandy asked.

          “I mean, like, first of all I’m kinda pissed that you wouldn’t tell me about your drinking,” she began, “You should cut back on the booze overall, but when you do want to indulge, at least invite your best friend from now on. Secondly, I can’t understand why Butch would care at all, let alone enough to _scold_ you for it.  Third, now that I mention it, I also can’t believe that you’d confess a drinking problem to Butch DeLoria before you told me, or even your father.”

          “I’m really sorry, it won’t happen again,” Sandy exhaled. She stood from the couch and walked to the desk, fishing something out of a drawer. She held up a pack of cigarettes, triumphant, “Care to indulge, Ams?” Her friend nodded. She sat back down and both girls lit up, each taking a drag before Sandy continued. “Think of what he’s had to go through with his mom. If what he said was true, then she must feel so alone, not to mention how it’s probably had an effect on his childhood. I can’t imagine he’d want anyone else to go through that,” she posited.

          “That’s one theory,” Amata took another drag, “I propose another,”

          “And it is?”

          “He likes you.”

          “Bullshit, Amata,” Sandy scoffed.

          “Let’s look at the facts, Sandy,” she leaned forward, “you drunkenly flirted with him, and he didn’t sock you on the jaw. When you left his mom’s apartment, he followed you instead of hanging behind to yell at his mom for inviting you. When he thought it was your first time drinking, he wanted you to pace yourself. When he found out you have—I mean _had_ —a problem, he tried to convince you to stop. You’re sweet to his mom when no one else is; I bet that carries some weight. I think he _cares about you._ ”

          “You’re out of your mind, Almodovar,” Sandy sassed.

          “Not to mention,” the overseer’s daughter continued, “he clearly thinks you’re attractive. And, hey, he’s got a pretty fucked up way of showing it, no arguments. But let’s consider some more facts, shall we?”

          “I think I’m getting sick of your facts.”

          Amata laughed, “Hear me out. If he thought you were repulsive, he and his goons would have just cornered you on the way home and kicked the crap out of you. But he had his hands all over you. And he’s clearly pictured you going down on him, I mean, he’s said so himself!”

          “He wasn’t picturing me ‘going down on him,’ Amata, he was picturing himself sexually assaulting me,” Sandy clarified.

          “Regardless, he’s pictured your mouth wrapped around his—“

          “Amata!” Sandy jumped up and covered her friend’s mouth.

          The girls both laughed at the immaturity of the action, before Amata stood up. “I’ve got to get back to work, Sandy. But let’s get dinner later, okay?”

          “Sounds like a plan,” she said as her friend walked out.

* * *

 

          Sandy decided she would use the rest of her day to give her office a deep clean. First she organized her bookshelves: ninety percent of the Vault Tec provided religious material was geared toward Christianity. She had two books on Judaism, one called the ‘Torah,’ and another called _The History of Israel: God’s Chosen People._ The only other book was one called _World Religions,_ which she guessed was supposed to be sufficient for any other faiths she might come across. The thought of it made her roll her eyes.

          After she had dusted and wiped down every surface and scrubbed the floors, Sandy decided that her work was done. She turned off the lights and went to lock up the commissary, but ran into a familiar face.

          “Oh!” Ellen DeLoria said, “Honey, I hope I’m not too late, you haven’t closed up, have you?”

          “No, Ellen, come on in,” Sandy said, walking to the liquor cabinet. She opened the doors and turned back to the woman, “Scotch today?”

          “Bourbon, if you’ve got it,” she replied. Sandy picked up the right bottle and walked back over to the counter, Ellen paid, and then she smiled. “I’m sorry to hear you got sick yesterday. Feeling any better?”

          Apparently Butch made an excuse for her after all. Sandy smiled meekly, “Much better, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it back. I hope the cake turned out well!”

          “You’re a natural, the cake came out perfectly! You have to come over for Butchie’s birthday dinner tomorrow; enjoy some of your hard work!” Ellen chattered.

          “Oh, no. I would hate to intrude, really,” Sandy replied, blushing.

          “None of that now! You must, I insist! Plus, I didn’t drink any of that special ‘tequila’ you gave me, we can all drink to my son’s 23rd birthday!” she said.

          “I… I don’t know that Butch would want me there,” Sandy mumbled.

          “Now I know you two haven’t always gotten along, but I have a feeling he does. Call it a mother’s intuition!” Ellen smiled.

          “Okay, I guess. But only if you tell him first, I don’t want to show up as a surprise,” the girl stated.

          “You’ve got it! I’ll see you tomorrow, hun!” Ellen said, pulling her in for a quick hug before leaving.

          _I really need to stop saying yes to Ellen DeLoria,_ Sandy thought as she finished locking up.

* * *

 

          She made it to the diner before Amata, so she secured them a booth and got them each a plate of Salisbury steak and Instamash, and two bottles of Nuka Cola. She looked around at the other vault dwellers in the room. The Gomez family was off in one corner, all eating together.  Susie and Christine sat at the counter, whispering to one another. Janice Wilkins and her brother Jim sat in the booth next to Sandy’s, and the Tunnel Snakes sat a few tables away. From where she was sitting, Sandy could see Paul and Wally, but Butch was facing away from her, she could only see the back of his head.

          Amata finally walked in and sat down, greeting her friend before cracking open her cola and taking a drink. When she had set it back down, but before the girls had started talking, Christine and Susie slid into the seats next to Sandy and Amata. They each had smug grins on their faces.

          “Was there something you needed?” Amata asked.

          “Just wanted to have a little _girl talk_ ,” Susie sneered.

          “’Girl talk?’ What could the four of us possibly have to talk about?” Sandy asked. It was no secret that Susie didn’t like her. Christine wasn’t a fan of hers either. Things never got violent, like fights between her and Butch, but the girls had never spared her from unnecessary bullying. Amata wasn’t close with them either, but at least they tolerated her.

          “Down to business then?” Christine asked. “Well, we want to know when goody two shoes here started fucking her father’s assistant.”

          “What?” Sandy gaped.

          “You heard her,” Susie near snapped, “We all saw him ‘walking you home’ the other day. What, was daddy working late and you thought you two would get in a quickie before he got home?”

          “Plus,” Christine chimed in before Sandy could respond, “we’ve all seen the two of you sneaking off to the reactor level when you think no one is around. Not to mention the little show you gave to Wally last night.”

          “None of that is true!” Amata defended her, “You guys really have nothing better to do? After all these years you’re still trying to mess with Sandy?”

          “Wally wouldn’t lie to us,” Christine snipped, “he walked in on you two in the janitorial closet outside the Overseer’s office.” She looked around at the other three, smiling, and leaned back in her seat. “He was doing her from behind,” she said with finality.

          Sandy couldn’t contain herself, and she started giggling. This clearly wasn’t the response the girls had been seeking, they simply looked confused, but she just kept going. Halfway through her fit, she realized she could finally mess with the two of them, and it made her laugh harder. It was near a full minute before she could breathe. Even Amata had joined in on the laughter.

          “That’s a nice story,” Sandy said, leaning in, “But I wasn’t with Jonas last night.”

          “Oh yeah, who were you with, then? _Sandra_?” Susie challenged.

          Amata already knew where this was going; Sandy could see it in her eyes. Christine and Susie were wildly unprepared for what she was about to say. She savored the moment. Sandy got a mischievous gleam in her eyes and lowered her voice: “I was with Butch.”

          The shoe was finally on the other foot. Sandy couldn’t help but smirk. Amata played along, much to her credit, and she looked surprised. At first, the other girl’s faces were shocked, but Susie’s expression quickly turned to anger. “You’re lying,” she seethed.

          Sandy chuckled. “I don’t know how I never noticed before, but his arms are so strong. You could crack open a walnut on those biceps. Not to mention his grip, I mean when that boy gets a hold of you he really does not let go.” She rolled her eyes back and shivered for emphasis.

          If Susie looked mad before, she was absolutely enraged now. She abruptly stood from the table, and Christine followed suit. “You stay away from him, you fucking bitch,” the Mack girl threatened before storming off. Sandy thought she would just leave the diner but she headed over to the table where the boys were sitting. Amata and Sandy followed her with their eyes.

          “Oh my God, please hit him,” Amata muttered, drawing a laugh from her friend.

          Instead, she started shouting. “HOW COULD YOU?!” A very startled Butch jumped up out of his seat, and everyone else in the room turned to look at the commotion. “You stood me up for her?!” Susie gestured toward Sandy. The look on both she and Amata’s faces could only be described as ‘astounded.’ She just wanted to piss off Susie; she didn’t want the whole vault thinking she had sex with Butch Deloria! Susie didn’t say another word, she just stormed out, Christine hot on her tail.

          Half of the people in the room were looking at Butch, the other half were looking at Sandy. After a few moments, when it was clear the drama was over, people hesitantly resumed their dinners. Sandy could see Wally saying something to his friend, but with his back turned, couldn’t gauge the boy’s response.

          “Oh you went and did it now,” Amata joked, turning her friend’s attention back to their own table. They both dug into their food, a grin plastered on Amata’s face the whole time.

          “So… now’s probably not a good time to mention that Ellen invited me to dinner for Butch’s birthday, huh?” Sandy laughed nervously.

          “She did?!” Amata gasped, “Oh my God, Sandy. You can’t go!”

          “I know that now! But I’ve already told Ellen I would! How am I supposed to back out now?” she hung her head in her hands.

          “Wow, Donahue, you’ve really stepped in it. I mean, this is a colossal mess you’ve created for yourself. If you take back what you said to Susie, everyone will think you’re sleeping with Jonas, not to mention they’ll think you’re a liar. But if you don’t, everyone will think you’re sleeping with Butch. If you go to dinner tomorrow, it’ll pretty much confirm it, but if you _don’t_ go, you’ll have to explain to his mom that you couldn’t make it because you as good as told people you were sleeping with her son.”

          Sandy groaned, putting her forehead on the table, “I wish I was dead.”

          “You run into Butch tonight, that just might happen,” Amata said, lifting her Nuka Cola and taking a swig.

          “Well then, I think I’m gonna get a head start. I’m going home, Ams. Hopefully I’ll die in my sleep,” Sandy rolled her eyes, getting up from the table and heading for the door.

          “Fingers crossed!” Amata called after her.

          Sandy really didn’t know what she was going to do. She didn’t mean to get mixed up in all this drama. _There’s no way out except through_ , _Sandy you dumbass._ She couldn’t go all in on her accidental lie, because even one contradictory word from Butch would ruin her reputation, make her seem even more pathetic than people already thought. She could be honest with anyone who asked, but her decisions didn’t follow any logical order, and they weren’t likely to believe her.

          _But why did Butch stand up Susie Mack last night?_ Sandy thought. _Was he supposed to hook up with her before, after, or during the time I saw him?_ She couldn’t imagine he had skipped out on sex with Susie in order to follow her around the vault and yell at her. _It’s God punishing me for not taking my job as chaplain seriously._

          She finally made it back home, and her dad was sitting at the table doing some work. “Hi, honey,” he called when she walked in, not looking up from his files.

          “Hey, dad,” she said, flopping down on the couch dramatically.

          He turned and looked at her, “How was your day?”

          Sandy sighed. She looked back at her father, “Dad, if you hear any gossip about me tomorrow, don’t believe a thing without talking to me first.”

          James’ eyes widened, “Is there something you need to tell me, Sandra?”

          “I’d rather not disclose any unnecessary information. I’m fine and I didn’t break any rules, just got myself wrapped up in a bit of adolescent drama,” she told her father in her best attempt to keep him out of the loop. He seemed okay with that.

          “You’re an adult, Sandy. It’s not adolescent drama anymore. Now it’s adult drama. If you did something wrong, you’ll have to figure out how to fix it,” he turned back to his work, smiling.

          She sighed again, “I’m going to take a long shower.”

          “It’s broken again.”

          “For fuck’s sake!” Sandy shouted.

          James turned around. “If you’re going to yell vulgarity, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do it in my living room. You’ll have to use the communal showers. Go yell the f-word in there.”

          “They’re on the other side of the vault, dad. I’m sure you see my frustration.” Sandy got up and gathered her toiletries from the bathroom, grabbing a clean towel and vault suit. “I’ll be back,” she said on her way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole time I was writing this chapter I was listening to the soundtrack to Grease. I came up with the name Sandy before, but I made her last name Donahue so that she'd really be Sandra D, lmao


	4. Shower Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best place to do any thinking is in the shower, right?

     Walking all the way to the communal showers was inconvenient on a good day. Tonight, it was equally exhausting and nerve-wracking. She was sure that at least half of the vault had heard what happened in the diner by now. The idea of coming across anybody right now—even a friendly face—made Sandy want to fade into the background. She couldn’t think of anyone in the vault with enough decency to just ignore her if they saw her now. Then, she passed by Stanley Armstrong who simply smiled and nodded at her. With such a pleasant greeting, Sandy began to hope that just maybe this time the gossip wouldn’t spread like wildfire. Knowing this was a pipe dream, she kept her head down the rest of the way to the shower room.

     Since Vault 101 had so few citizens, almost no one used the communal showers anymore. All the compartments with their own bathrooms were inhabited, so there might be six or seven people total that used these rooms. Maybe two of them were women, so Sandy prayed that the women’s showers would be completely deserted.

     “Finally, some luck,” Sandy mumbled when she walked into the empty shower room. She laid out her clean vault suit on the counter and put the rest of her toiletries on the shelf in the shower, hanging up her towel just out of reach of the water stream. She climbed in and got undressed, tossing her dirty suit back over the shower wall. _I’ll pick it up later,_ she thought. She started playing a holotape mix that Amata had made for her and put her Pip-Boy on the top shelf.

     She let the warm water run over her body and began to think about her conversations with her friend the past few days. Amata had seemed pretty confident that Butch secretly liked her. _Which is crazy! There’s no way that it’s true. I mean, anyone with eyes could see that he hates me! We’ve never gotten along!_  

     She started working shampoo through her long hair. _But, except for the last couple of days,_ another voice in her head nagged, _you’ve hardly fought at all the last few years. No fist fights since you were eighteen. He hasn’t gone out of his way to mess with you in almost as long. And even within the last week, you’ve been the one to antagonize him by talking about his mom._

     She let the water rinse her hair clean, grabbing a washcloth and a bar of soap to clean her body. _He hasn’t really done anything to me in a long time, aside from calling me ‘nosebleed’ or ‘freak’ once in a while. But that doesn’t mean he likes me, maybe we’re just growing up and finally letting go of petty childhood differences._

     She started at her neck and worked her way down, using the cloth to work the suds into her skin, making circles across her shoulders, arms, chest and stomach. _So he might not hate me, I can accept that possibility. But I do NOT like him. Amata has lost her mind! What’s there to like? He never took school seriously, and why would I like someone with no intellectual capacity? He has awful taste in friends._

     She washed her backside and between her legs, moving down each leg and to her feet. _Butch isn’t bad to look it,_ she reasoned. _That’s an understatement._ She chuckled to herself. _He’s definitely the best looking guy I know. But he knows it, and he’s so cocky about it! Seems like I’m not the only one who’s filled out my vault suit since school ended. Those arms were firm and strong. He’s got such a strong jaw… and such pretty eyes._ Sandy felt a twinge between her legs and her thoughts stopped dead in their tracks. _Oh no. I am NOT going to get turned on thinking about Butch DeLoria. Not happening._ Instead she focused on the music playing from her Pip-Boy. She listened closely to the voice of Frankie Valli and started to sing along.

     “Sheeeeerrryy, Sherry baby, Sheerrry can you come out tonight?” Sandy sang. She was enjoying the warmth of the shower and the music, so she decided she might as well take the time to shave while she had the chance. It had been a while since she shaved her legs, and her pubes were getting out of control too.

     She took her time, doing her best to avoid any nicks from her razor. Running her hands over her skin, she decided her work was sufficient. Sandy let the warm water run over her for a few more minutes before shutting it off. She grabbed her towel and started to dry off, then wrapped it around herself and wrung out her hair. She stepped out of the shower and walked to the counter to grab her vault suit.

     “It’s not here,” she whispered. The suit in fact, wasn’t there. She spun around and looked for it; maybe she had left it somewhere else. It wasn’t anywhere, however, and neither was the one she came in with. “What the fuck?” she wondered, still looking around confusedly. It took a moment to dawn on her: someone must have come in and taken her vault suits.

     She exhaled and felt her jaw twitch. “This is all so childish,” she muttered, “They can’t leave me alone for one FUCKING day!” her voice rose to a yell. “You can’t just confront me to my face like fucking adults!?” She gathered her toiletries and snapped her Pip-Boy on her bare arm. One hand held the towel tight and she sighed. She was going to have to make the long walk across the vault in just her towel. She walked out the door and into the cold hallway.

     “I hope you’re enjoying yourselves, you goddamn children,” she huffed. She could try and run the whole way, but her chances of wiping out would be too high, so Sandy set off at a brisk walk back to her compartment. The farther she walked, the angrier she got. She was practically seething when she rounded a corner and ran smack into Wally Mack.

     “Well, well, well,” he smirked, looking her up and down. She backed up a step.

     “You fucking prick, you think this is funny? Give me back my goddamn vault suits,” she raged.

     “Look at the new vault whore, walking around in nothing but a towel,” he drawled, closing the gap between them.

     “Get away from me,” Sandy tried to push him out of her way, but he grabbed her wrists, bending her arms and causing her to drop her bag of toiletries. “Get off of me, you slimy son of a bitch!”

     He turned and slammed her against the wall, her head hitting the hard steel. He pressed his body up against hers. She could smell alcohol on him, whenever he had started  drinking, he’d had a lot since then. “You’ve had quite the fuckin’ week, haven’t you, _Sandy?_ ” he whispered in her ear.

     “Wally, get off me, I’m serious,” she gasped at the sharp pain in the back of her head.

     “Got all the attention in the world by embarrassing my sister in front of everyone. Somehow convinced Butch to fuck you, must be out of his goddamn mind. I mean, you’re hot enough—we’ve all joked about it, but only he would be gross enough to actually do it,” he sneered.

     “Please, Wally, I didn’t—I didn’t do it, I didn’t sleep with Butch, please, please just leave me alone,” Sandy pleaded. She squirmed, trying to get him to release her, but he grabbed her wrists and held them to the wall with one hand, he used the other to grab her face.

     “Lying now isn’t going to make it any better, you dumb cunt. He didn’t deny that he was with you last night, told me you had your hands all over him. You’re disgusting, you know that?”

     Sandy wiggled just enough, found her opening, and took it. She drew her knee up as hard as she could, nailing Wally right between the legs. She rushed to grab her bag and make her escape, but she was yanked back by her wet hair and thrown to the ground. Before she could make sense of what happened, Wally’s fist connected with her face and she went out cold.

* * *

 

     The first thing Sandy registered was pain. Pain in her head and neck, her wrists, her back, stomach, and most of all in her face.  The second thing she noticed was the ringing in her ears. It was so loud it drowned out all other noises. Her head was throbbing; she could easily say she had never felt so bad in her life. She groaned, and even that simple sound caused pain all the way from her face to her gut. She tried to open her eyes, but they were swollen shut. Sandy could feel that she was lying on the ground, but without her other senses, had no idea where. Desperate to get someone’s help, she opened her mouth to speak, but shut it immediately when she felt the intense pain. Something was wrong with her jaw. _I’m going to die here,_ Sandy thought.

     It felt like hours—though she had no way of knowing—that she laid there. The ringing in her ears faded slowly. She was left only with the agony and discomfort of her position. She tried multiple times to lift herself up, to stumble her way to some sort of assistance, but she found herself too weak to manage. She was wondering how long she would be able to endure this condition when she heard a voice down the hall.

     “What the hell?” it was a man and he sounded confused. Sandy heard his footsteps drawing closer, and the voice changed from confused to panicked. “Oh my God, Donahue!” She felt fingers on her neck, checking her pulse. She mustered a groan to let him know she was alive.

     “Sandy,” he breathed, “it’s Officer Gomez. I’m going to carry you to the clinic, okay? I’m sorry if it hurts but I’m going to pick you up now.” He scooped her up in his arms and her whole body seemed to explode in pain. He tried to jostle her as little as possible, but even the little movement increased her discomfort. After a minute or two she heard a door slide open and then she was set down on a bed. She heard the familiar whirring of machines and knew she was in the clinic where she had spent so much of her childhood. “Sandy, I’m going to fetch your father, okay? He’ll be right here, I promise,” Gomez assured her before she heard him leave again.

     Sandy had to breathe through her mouth—it hurt, but she found it impossible to breathe through her nose. After what seemed like only a moment, she heard the door to the clinic open and the flurry of motion and familiar voices that accompanied it.

     “Where did you find her, Herman?” she heard her father ask. He sounded damn near hysterical.

     “Lying in the hall, ‘bout forty yards from the shower room,” Officer Gomez sounded out of breath.

     “Oh my God,” James whispered. “Honey,” he addressed Sandy while he worked, “can you hear me?”

     She gave a small nod, pain coursing through her head and neck.

     “Can you talk, sweetheart?”

     She mustered all her strength to raise her arm, tapping her jaw lightly and giving her head a slight shake. Sandy couldn’t believe that such a small move had exhausted her. She felt her father’s hands on her face.

     “Her jaw is dislocated… Herman, can you please fetch Jonas for me?” he said. James seemed calmed by the knowledge that his daughter was cognitive, at least.

     “Yes, Doc,” the officer said, leaving the room.

     “Okay, honey, I’m going to give you some medication. It’s going to ease your pain and you might fall asleep. Don’t worry, you’re fine, you’re safe,” he said as he injected her with Med-X. A few moments later she relaxed as she let the medicine pull her under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this chapter like three times. I decided to take a different course than I originally planned, for the sake of continuing the story.


	5. A Regular Tunnel Snake Dragon King

          Sandy awoke again to the sound of a heart monitor beeping along with her pulse. This time around, when she tried to open her eyes they acquiesced. She looked around and saw her father hunched over at his desk diligently working on something. She tried to open her mouth and call him over, but realized it wouldn’t open. She reached up and felt a bandage wrapped around her head, securing her jaw in place. She tapped her nails on the bed railing to get her father’s attention. He noticed and walked over, a small smile on his face.

          “You’re awake,” he began, “how are you feeling, honey?” She stared at him and he seemed to realize his mistake and chuckled. “I’m sorry. Here,” he handed her a notebook and pencil, “use this to tell me.”

          She wrote out her answer and handed it back to him to read. “The medicine is working, pain more like a dull ache, eh? That’s good.” She gestured to the bandage holding her jaw closed, giving her father a quizzical look. “Your jaw was dislocated. I’m afraid you’ll have to keep that on for a day or so. Then only soft foods for a week.” 

          She motioned for the notebook, and he handed it back to her. _What’s the damage, doc?_ Sandy wrote. James laughed when he read it, but then his face turned grave. He sighed, “A broken nose, dislocated jaw, bruising on the back of your head, as well as on your arms and abdomen. No internal bleeding, thankfully, and no broken ribs.” Sandy felt a tear leak from her eye as she reached up to touch her nose; she winced, feeling the tender flesh under another bandage.

          “Who did this, Sandy?” he mumbled the question. She took the pencil and her hand hovered over the page. _All I have to do is write ‘Wally,’_ she thought. _That’s all I have to do._ But as much as her mind cried out for her to write the name, she couldn’t do it. Her mind kept harkening back to Paul’s warning days prior. Surely this isn’t what he meant, but he had been proven right. _It’s not like they’ll lock Wally up forever, and then how mad will he be when he gets out? It’ll be worse next time._ She considered this and wrote down her answer.

          “You don’t know?” the doctor sighed when he read her response. He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Almost all of your injuries were inflicted on your front side, and you want me to believe you don’t know who did this?” She just stared, eyes welling up with tears. He exhaled, disappointment just visible under his sadness, “Okay.”

* * *

 

          She spent the following two days in the clinic, resting and healing. Amata visited, and Sandy was as tight lipped with her friend as she was with her father. Amata didn’t take it as well.

          “It was Butch, wasn’t it? He couldn’t stand the rumors going around and he thought he’d kick the crap out of you for payback? I can’t believe I was going to give him the benefit of the doubt that son of a bitch—“ Amata was cut off by Sandy holding her hands up and shaking her head vigorously. She grabbed the notebook and wrote out “ _it wasn’t him.”_

          “So it was Wally then?” Amata accused. Sandy could only look down, not meeting her friend’s eyes. “Sandy, look at me,” she waited, “Why haven’t you told anyone? Wally is just out there walking around! He should be locked up!”

          Sandy wrote out another note. “ _It won’t make a difference. He’d get out and then things would only get worse. Please don’t say anything.”_

          Amata’s eyes narrowed, she made her disagreement clear but she agreed with whatever made her friend feel better.

* * *

 

          The third day after the attack, her father cleared her to return for work, albeit unhappily.

          “Keep the talking to a minimum,” he warned, “You don’t want to overwork your jaw. No laughing too hard, don’t want to snort and end up hurting your nose.” She nodded and headed off to the commissary.

          It was going to be another slow day as payday was still a week away. The silence of the commissary didn’t bother Sandy—at least not today. The fewer people who came in, the fewer who would see her entirely discolored face or have to hear her attempt to speak with her mouth closed. Anyone who didn’t already hate her would look at her with pity, and she didn’t know which was worse.

          She thought she might get a head start on next month’s inventory count, but remembered that she’d then have to find a way to fill the time next month. Instead, she settled for organizing and cleaning the shelves.

          Sandy was climbing down the ladder, having just finished dusting the top shelves when she heard the door slide open. She walked back to the counter just in time to see Ellen and Butch DeLoria walk in. Upon seeing her face, Butch did a double take and his mother brought both hands up to cover her mouth in shock.

          “Oh, honey!” Ellen cried out, “We had heard you were in the clinic, but no one mentioned you were in such… rough shape.”

          Sandy wanted to be comfortable chatting with Ellen again, but Butch’s presence set her on edge. She tried to give a nonchalant shrug and looked back at the woman.

          Noting her silence, Ellen asked, “are you in much pain?”

          She slowly shook her head and pointed to her jaw, forcing the words through gritted teeth, “dislocated—hard to speak.” Sandy hated how much she sounded like a Neanderthal.

          Butch’s eyes widened, much to Sandy’s surprise. Ellen nodded solemnly. Sandy reached for her notebook and pen, writing out what she wanted to say: “ _I’m terribly sorry I couldn’t make it for Butch’s birthday. I hope you enjoyed the cake, at least.”_

Ellen read the message and laughed nervously. “Well, actually… we stopped by to bring you some,” she gestured to her son who held a plate with a slice of cake on top. Sandy hadn’t noticed he’d had anything in his hands. “But I suppose you can’t eat it, sweetie?” she asked.

          Sandy shook her head.

          Ellen’s face fell. Sandy impulsively reached out and placed her hand atop the other woman’s. She lifted her eyes to find Sandy offering a small smile—the best she could do. Using her other hand, Sandy wrote out her next question, _“what can I get you today, Ellen?”_ She gave the hand a squeeze and then stood and walked to the liquor cabinet.

          Ellen decided on scotch again today—two bottles. The woman paid and offered her usual pleasantries to Sandy before turning to leave. Butch, however, lagged behind.

          “I just need to tell Sandy something quick, ma. You go on ahead,” he muttered to his mother. She nodded and left. When Sandy was alone with Butch she visibly tensed up. She had no idea where they stood. Did he know what Wally did? Did he ask him to do it? Or maybe he was ignorant of the whole thing?

          It was silent for a few moments, and then he exhaled. “Who did it?” he asked.

          Sandy just stared back, eyes hardening as she did.

          He looked her right in the eye, “Was it Stevie or was it Wally?” He used their names so definitively, like he had no doubt that one or both were involved.

          _“What makes you think it was either?”_ Sandy wrote out, trying to protect her façade of ignorance.

          He read her response and looked back at her, “Cut the shit, Sandy. I know it was one of them, and you know which one.”

          She exhaled and spoke through her closed teeth, “what difference does it make, DeLoria? You gonna do something about it?” Her look said the rest: _Wally is your best friend. Stevie works in security. You wouldn’t confront either one of them._

It was his turn to sigh. “Listen, uh…” he began, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck, “I don’t know what you’re thinking but…”

          She continued staring at him.

          “Whoever did it, I… I didn’t put them up to it. I’m not mad about the whole ‘Susie’ thing, you know? I, uh… thought the whole thing was kinda funny, actually.”

          “I thought it was funny too,” Sandy forced out, “until I was beaten unconscious.” Butch was speechless, she could see him scrambling, trying to think of what to say. Instead of watching him flounder, she continued, “he said you didn’t deny it.”

          “—What?” he stammered.

          “He said you didn’t deny it. You told him I’d ‘had my hands all over you,’” she accused. She wanted to sound menacing, but she thought she just seemed desperate for answers.

          Then Butch laughed. Sandy couldn’t believe he was laughing, especially when she wasn’t kidding. “Well,” he started, still chuckling, “I _was_ with you that night, the guys didn’t ask for specifics. And you _did_ have your hands all over me.” He got close to her and imitated her action from that night, trailing his hand up her arm, and then twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. Sandy’s eyes widened. He frowned and didn’t let go of her hair. Instead, he ran his fingers through the ends. “This is awful,” he said.

          “I’m sorry, what?” she asked.

          “When’s the last time you conditioned your hair?” he chided,

          Sandy blushed, “I… I thought it was optional.”

          Butch’s jaw dropped, he looked personally offended. “Please tell me you’re kidding.” She didn’t respond. He lifted the ends of her hair and brought them in front of her face to show her. “Your hair shouldn’t look like this! It feels like sandpaper! Even the cut is bad! Have you been doing this yourself?”

          “Well I wasn’t gonna let _you_ do it,” she mumbled.

          “Shit, nosebleed, this is—this is bad. This can’t wait another day. Come on, let’s go,” he urged her to get up.

          “What? No!” Sandy shook her head.

          “Sandy, I’ve had to look at that nest for years. I can’t possibly make it look worse than it does right now,” Butch stated, crossing his arms.

          “But someone’s gotta run the shop,” she grumbled.

          “People will be fine without their candy apples for a few hours, come on,” he called as he walked toward the door.

          “A few _hours?”_ she asked incredulously, following after him. She put a ‘be back soon’ sign on the door.

          “You haven’t had your hair done since Beatrice retired, dweeb. It’s going to take all I’ve got to make _this,”_ he gestured to her hair, “look decent again.”

          “Can you make me blonde again?” she asked, hopeful.

          “I can, but I sure ain’t gonna,” Butch replied.

          “Why not?” Sandy whined.

          “Cause you look ridiculous as a blonde, and the Butch-man isn’t gonna take credit for a bad ‘do.”

          They made it to the salon or “The _barbershop_ ,” as Butch insisted on calling it. Sandy sat down in the chair, and Butch began working on her hair. She looked around at his workspace—it was surprisingly neat. Sandy remembered a few days before when Ellen said that Butch took pride in his work, for the first time she could see that it was truly the case. She looked up at him while he worked, and saw the absolute concentration on his face. He really was taking this seriously.

          He was working a very thick cream into her hair and she couldn’t help but realize how nice it felt. Sandy closed her eyes and exhaled, enjoying her little bit of peace. He let the cream sit in her hair, and she could hear him move to wash his hands in the sink. After a few moments, he broke the silence, “how attached are you to that nest?”

          Sandy looked up at him, “if you’re thinking about shaving my head you can forget it,” she scowled.

          He raised his hands in mock offense, “relax, crazy. What I’m tryin’ to say is that you’ve really fucked up your hair. If you want it healthy, I’m gonna have to chop a lot,” he explained, making a cutting motion with his fingers. Sandy pondered it, her hair was down to the middle of her back, but she wasn’t particularly attached to it. Still, agreeing would mean she’d have to trust that Butch wouldn’t completely embarrass her—just the thing she’d been afraid of for years. _Can I really believe that he’ll make it look good?_ She thought.

          “Yes,” Sandy decided, “but I still want to be able to pull it back out of my face, so no bobs.”

          His face lit up. Sandy smiled, closed her eyes, and let him get to work. She tried to relax, wasn’t watching what he was doing unless he gave her a directive, _go to the sink, tip your head, turn a little to the right, hold still_. While he worked, though, Sandy took extra notice of his hands. His fingertips would tip her head gently, this way and that. When he stepped back to get a better look, he’d rest his hands on her shoulders. She liked the sensation when he ran his fingers through her hair. It was pleasant, very gentle, and everything she had not expected from Butch DeLoria.

          “Wow,” he announced, stepping back from Sandy, “the Butch-man works miracles.”

          “Are you done?” she asked, “Can I see?” He spun her chair around in response, facing her towards the mirror. She gasped. He had cut close to a foot from her hair. It now only brushed the top of her shoulders. The ends were smooth and soft. She ran her fingers through it, savoring the silky feeling.  She leaned in closer to the mirror and her eyes widened. Butch had given it a slight curl after he cut it and her natural color looked great when the light shined off of it.

          “Whadaya think, nosebleed?”

          “Butch…” she gaped, amazed, “it’s never looked so good in my life.”

          He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a smug grin, “like I said, sweetheart, miracles.”

          “Wow,” Sandy repeated. She ran her fingers through the supple ends a few more times before looking back at him, “what do I owe you?”

          He pondered for a moment, “nothing.” Sandy gave him a suspicious look, and he continued, “you just make sure everyone knows that the Butch-man is the one who made you look so good.”

          “If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is,” Sandy accused.

          Butch rolled his eyes, “Gotta drum up business somehow. And if people see that I can turn a rat into a golden carriage then they might come see me themselves.”

          Sandy laughed at his horrible mixed up version of Cinderella, but nodded. “Well, you’re my regular fairy godmother!”

          He scoffed, “I ain’t no fairy! I’m more like a… Tunnel Snake… dragon… king! Yeah!”

          Sandy burst out in laughter, Butch joining her soon after. After the fit had subsided, she walked to the door and turned around. “Hey, thanks, Butch. It looks great.”

          “Anytime, doll,” he replied as Sandy bounced out of the room. She didn’t know it, but his eyes followed her long after she left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My bad for the sudden slow down in chapter production. I didn't feel like doing it.


	6. An Interesting Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandy hears a bit of news she finds shocking, and goes to Butch to find out why.

          People in the vault loved Sandy’s new hair. When she passed Mrs. Gomez in the hallway, she showered praise on the new look. When Sandy walked into the diner for dinner—soft foods only, doctor’s orders—she caught most everyone staring. Old Lady Palmer doted on her for several minutes, letting her know just how pretty she was today. Thankfully, the new hair seemed to be distracting the people from how bruised her face still was.

          After her meal, Sandy headed back to her compartment. As usual, her father was sitting at the table, head buried in some paperwork.

          “Evenin’ sweetheart,” he said without looking up.

          “Hi, dad. What are you working on tonight?” she reclined on the couch.

          “The usual, some equations, you know. Still trying to iron out some kinks in an experiment of mine. It’s taking longer than expected” he sighed.

          “You’ll figure it out, dad. You always do,” Sandy encouraged.

          He rubbed his face and put his glasses back on before turning around. “How are you feel—“ he began before he recoiled. “You look different.”

          “What do you think?” Sandys asked, flipping her hair dramatically.

          “It looks nice. You didn’t do that yourself, though, did you?” he asked.

          _Obviously not,_ Sandy thought, but didn’t say out loud. “No,” she began instead, “I finally caved and went to the salon.”

          “So that DeLoria boy did it then?”

          “Yes.”

          “I thought you were ‘never going to let that greasy weasel touch your hair as long as you live?’” he smirked.

          Sandy rolled her eyes. “I suppose I misjudged him. He’s not as much of a greasy weasel as previously thought. You like it, though, right?”

          “You look lovely, honey. Now,” he said, walking over to her and motioning for her to stand, “how are you feeling? Any significant pain?”

          “Jaw’s a little sore,” she lamented, “but no more than expected. Everything seems to be healing just right. I think I’m going to go right to bed, get a little bit more rest.”

          “That’s my girl. Goodnight, Sandra.”

          “Goodnight, dad.”

* * *

 

          Over the next week and a half, things returned to a relatively normal state. Pay day came and went, and Sandy finally had something to do at work. The bruises on her face and body slowly dissipated until she looked almost normal—except for a now slightly crooked nose. Her jaw, she noticed when she was finally allowed to eat solid foods again, sometimes popped out of place. It wasn’t painful, but it was inconvenient—and loud.

          Sandy didn’t see much of Butch since her haircut, she was busy in the commissary, and hopefully he was inundated with the new clients her haircut was supposed to have driven in. She did, unfortunately, see Wally. It was always in passing—she hadn’t had to speak to him yet—but he always either glared at her or gave her a smug grin. Both expressions made her stomach churn.

          “I just wish you had told my father that he did this to you,” Amata said one evening after Wally passed them in the corridor.

          Sandy scoffed. “Your father hates me. He probably would have egged Wally on, maybe given him some extra ration coupons as a reward.”

          “Give it up, Sandy. He doesn’t _hate_ you. You two just… don’t get along is all,” Amata tried to reason.

          “I’m perfectly polite to him. He’s the one who could use a good kick in the—“ seeing the look on her friend’s face, Sandy moved on, “Anyway, if it had happened to you, Wally would never see the light of day.”

          “None of us have ever seen the light of day,” Amata deadpanned.

          After a long burst of laughter, Sandy replied, “then he’d never see the beautiful florescent light of the hallways ever again,” which earned another bout of laughter from them both.

          Amata left to return to her supervisor duties, and Sandy walked the rest of the way on her own, leaving her once again alone in the commissary.  She flipped on her Pip-Boy and started up a new game of Atomic Command. _Gotta keep my skills sharp if I want to remain the high scorer in the vault,_ she thought as she played. She continued on for a while before hearing the door open and looking up. Standing in the doorway were Christine Kendall and Susie Mack. Sandy rolled her eyes and returned to her game.

          “I just want you to know something,” Susie began. Sandy looked up to see the girl standing on the other side of the counter with her arms crossed.

          Sandy took a deep breath and sighed dramatically before giving her a very curt “ _what?_ ”

          “You might be the Butch’s newest girl, but I was there first. I was his first, and he was mine, and that bond will always be there,” Susie said with a condescending look.

          Sandy simply laughed: “who said anything about me being Butch’s _girl_?”

          Then Christine chimed in, “Butch did. And there’s no point in denying it, because he already told us! So now we know you’re nothing but a dirty man-stealer! You can no longer consider us friends!”

          _Good God,_ Sandy thought before responding, _that was about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard said aloud. I think my eyes might be rolling back into my skull. I think I’m getting dumber just by being in proximity to her._  “We were literally _never_ friends to begin with, Christine.”

          Susie rolled her eyes this time and spoke again, “It doesn’t matter. You have fun with my sloppy seconds, Sandra. But just remember: every time you two are together, that I was there first.”

          The two girls continued standing there, not taking their opportune moment to leave dramatically. “Well, are you gonna buy something?” Sandy demanded.

          Susie huffed, “come on Christine,” and the girls turned and walked out.

          Sandy put down her Pip-Boy when they left and started to think. She thought about how abysmal Christine and Susie’s personalities must be that this was something they thought was a good idea. Then she thought about Butch. He was telling people that she was ‘his girl’? Sandy needed to find out what that was all about and put a stop to it. She got up from her chair, shut off the lights, and locked the door, once again attaching her ‘be back soon’ sign.  She trudged over to the salon, preparing what she planned to say. _Do I lead him into it? Let him tell me himself? Or do I outright ask him? Make him ‘fess up so I can shut it down?_ She exhaled slowly, trying to get a grip. _Do I want to shut it down? I think so. Just because we don’t hate each other doesn’t mean I’m his ‘girl,’ right? I mean there are rumors flying around, but none of them are true, so why encourage it?_

          When she reached the salon, she found the door locked and the lights off. “I guess the Butch-man is done for the day, eh?” she pondered. _But you need to talk to him about this. You need to know what’s going on in your own life, Sandy,_ she thought. So she proceeded to check in all the usual places. He wasn’t in the diner—Wally and Paul were, but she had no interest in hanging around while they were there—so she moved on. She also couldn’t find him in the lounge which was the main haunt for the Tunnel Snakes when they weren’t terrorizing the vault. _He’s probably in his compartment then,_ she realized. She had taken off walking before another realization hit her: _I don’t know where Butch’s compartment is. I guess I’ll have to ask Ellen._ Before this moment, Sandy had no reason to know which compartment Butch lived in. She had never planned to visit him.

          She rounded the corner that led to Ellen DeLoria’s place when she collided with something— _hard_ —and fell to the ground.

          “Hey! Watch where you’re going, you—oh shit! Nosebleed, you okay?”

          Sandy looked up to see Butch standing over her. _At least I’ve found you,_ she thought. He grabbed her hand and helped her back up to her feet. She dusted herself off and he leaned against the wall next to her.

          “You coming to see my ma?” he asked.

          “No, actually. I’ve been looking for you,” she crossed her arms over her chest.

          “Oh, yeah?” he lifted an eyebrow.

          “Yeah,” Sandy began, “we need to talk.”

          “Oh no,” Butch ran his hands through his hair, “no, don’t tell me. You’re leaving me, and you’re taking the kids. You don’t love me anymore, and you’re going to stay with your mom while you figure things out? This is the end? Sandra, say it ain’t so!”

          Sandy’s stare was blank. She had never heard Butch tell a joke, much less a funny one. Her incredulous look slowly turned into a smile, and he burst out suddenly in laughter. “Oh my… Oh, Sandy… You shoulda seen your face! That was… that was a good one…Oh, God I’m funny. That was good,” he let out between laughs. Sandy had begun laughing too, but only because she was taken aback. She had never seen Butch DeLoria laugh so hard in her entire life. When she looked up from her bout, he was no longer standing in front of her. She turned around to see he had taken off down the hallway.

          “Hey, wait!” She called, running after him, “I’m serious; I need to talk to you!”

          “Yeah, Sandy, I heard ya the first time,” he replied coolly.

          “Okay, so where are you going?”

          “You ever heard a fun conversation that started out with ‘we need to talk’?” he asked.

          “Well, no, but—“

          He interrupted, “Exactly. And I ain’t a fan of airing out all my shit in the hallway, ya dig?” He stopped in front of a doorway and opened it, gesturing for her to go inside, “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

          Sandy was already in the door when she realized it must be Butch’s compartment. He flipped the lights on and closed the door, and she looked around. Like his work station, the place was surprisingly clean. There were a few magazines and an empty beer bottle on the table, but other than that, the mess she had assumed would be there wasn’t.

          “You dig the place?” he asked. She looked over at him to see that he was watching her.

          She cleared her throat, “It’s a lot bigger than I expected it to be,”

          He chuckled, “that’s what they all say, doll.” She glared at him and he winked, then he walked over to his couch and leaned on the back of it.

          Rather than go down the rabbit hole that was Butch’s innuendos, Sandy figured she’d come right out with it. “Why did Susie Mack say you referred to me as ‘your girl’?”

          Butch dragged his hand across his face and groaned. He threw himself over the back of the couch, so that his legs were up in the air and his body was on the seat. Sandy followed him over and sat on the arm. He wasn’t answering, so she continued.

          “I’m serious, Butch. Answer the damn question.”

          “Listen, toots, if you had Susie Mack breathing down your neck every day, you’d come up with something—anything—to get her to leave you alone,” he said.

          “What’s she ‘breathing down your neck’ about?” Sandy’s eyes widened.

          He laughed, “This might be news to you, angel, but Susie’s addicted to sex. She can’t get enough—ever. Now, don’t get it twisted, I’m not some kind of geek, I like sex as much as any guy in this vault!” he paused, making eye contact, “But when she’s hounding you about it 24/7? It’s like, give a guy a break! Sometimes a man’s just gotta be with his crew!”

          Sandy’s jaw dropped—and popped as a result. “You’re telling me…” she started, “that you told Susie Mack we’re an item… So that she’ll stop having so much sex with you?!”

          “That about sums it up, yeah.” He stood up and walked to his fridge, where he pulled out two beers. He opened them, and walked back to the couch, handing one to Sandy. “She already thought that,” he said, taking a swig, “you know, after the whole thing in the diner? But I just confirmed it for her.”

          She took a long drag from her bottle. “Why?”

          “Whaddya mean ‘why,’ Nosebleed? I just told you why!”

          “I mean why not just tell her no?” Sandy shrugged.

          “Let me lay this out for you, okay, Sandy? Butch here is a ladies man. Bona fide, certified. If word gets around—and when Susie is involved, it usually does—that I said no to _sex_? What kind of picture is that gonna paint, huh? This way is best. I don’t have to deal with Susie, and I still keep my image—I’ve just got a new girl. I figure you would’ve caught that, I mean, aren’t you supposed to be smart?”

          Sandy drained her bottle. She crossed her arms and stared at him. “And I’m just supposed to go along with this? Just pretend that I’m your girlfriend? Pretend that we’re hooking up so that Susie leaves you alone? What about me?”

          “Well, we don’t have to pretend, doll,” he said with a wink before finishing his own beer.

          Sandy stood, exasperated, “Butch, you’re _such_ an asshole!”

          He walked over to her and gently grabbed her arms, “Earth to Sandy, it was a joke. Chill out.” He let her go and sat on the sofa, gesturing for her to do so as well. She just crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. “Oh, come on, Donahue, would ya sit your ass down?” Sandy did so, begrudgingly, and maintained her displeased expression.

          “Relax, Sandra, will ya? This doesn’t have to be a bad gig! Think about it. You’re my girl now. Wally will leave you alone. Plus, you’ll get to spend more time with the Butch-man. It’s really a win-win for you.”

          Sandy rolled her eyes and sighed. “Do I really even have a choice?”

          “Not if you want me to keep cutting your hair,” he shrugged.

          “There’s always a catch,” she chuckled. Butch beamed at the sight of her smile. “Okay. Fine. BUT I want free haircuts from now on!”

          “Forever?! Sandy, think of how much money that’s gonna cost me! No way!” he complained.

          “Fine, then. Just while we’re ‘together,’ no longer,” she offered.

          “Alright then,” he stood up, “we’ve got big plans tonight, Sandy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter I've put out in months because I was overwhelmed with school and work! But I'm back (for now)!


	7. Big Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all consider this a date?

          “I’m not having sex with you, Butch DeLoria,” Sandy stated, crossing her arms again.

          “That wasn’t part of the plan, Sandra Donahue,” he mimicked in a bad attempt at her voice.

          “Okay then,” she continued, “what do you consider to be ‘big plans’?”

          “You’re my girlfriend now—“

          “ _Fake_ girlfriend,” she corrected.

          He rolled his eyes, “Whatever. Anyway, so we’ve gotta be seen together so people will really buy this.”

          Sandy folded both her hands over her chest, batted her eyelashes, and gasped. “Aww, Butch DeLoria! Are you going to take me out to the drive-in movies, and then maybe afterward we can go to the diner and sip on one milkshake with two straws?! I’ll get my poodle skirt! Pick me up at eight!” He glared at her and she snorted.

          “Haha, Sandy. No. I’m no square. No, tonight’s plans are 100% Butch approved for an unbeatable good time!”

          “If I don’t have a good time I want my money back,” she joked.

          “What time is it?” he asked, ignoring her joke.

          “About 8:30, why?” she responded.

          “I haven’t eaten yet,” he said, and his stomach growled, as if on cue, “will you be a doll and go grab us some food and bring it back?”

          Sandy didn’t respond. Her mouth fell open, and she looked at him in shock. _This fool cannot be serious,_ she thought.

          “Well?” he asked.

          “You better be joking. That had better have been the world’s worst joke,” she glowered.

          “No, I’m hungry,” he stated.

          “So you expect me,” she began, “to go fetch you food and bring it back here for you? All while you do what? Sit on your ass? You’ve got legs. If you want food, walk them over to the diner and get it yourself.”

          “Aren’t you hungry?” he said, crossing his own arms.

          “Yes,” Sandy replied, “and I’m going to go to the diner, get some dinner, sit down, and eat it. I suppose if you’re hungry enough you’ll join me.” She turned to the door, but he spoke again.

          “We can’t just sit down and eat dinner together!” he hollered, “It ain’t like we’re married.”

          Sandy was flabbergasted. _What kind of backwards ass logic is going on in that brain of his??_ She exhaled slowly. “Let me get this straight. You’re willing to tell people that we are having sex, but you’re unwilling to eat your dinner at the same table as me?”

          “It’s too… Jesus, Sandy, I don’t know! It’s too… _intimate,_ ” he shuddered.

          “Butch, you’re out of your goddamn mind,” she replied, turning and walking out, headed for the diner. As she walked she shook her head and tried to think about what his plan could have possibly been. He wanted people in the vault to see them out together, _as a couple_ , wouldn’t it then make the most sense to sit together at dinner? That’s where they were likely to get the most attention. _It’s not like we have to hold hands and whisper sweet nothings to one another. It’s sitting in the same booth for 15 minutes while we eat. What is his problem?_

          She got to the diner and saw that it was mostly empty anyway. Officers Wolfe and Mack were sitting at the bar, likely grabbing a bite before they went on duty. Janice Wilkins was sitting at another table, nibbling while playing with her Pip-Boy. The only other person in the room was Mr. Brotch, also eating by himself. Sandy fixed herself a plate of mac and cheese, grabbed a sweet roll, and sat down at one of the empty tables to eat.

          About halfway through her meal, she realized someone was standing over her table. She looked up and saw Butch standing there, holding a plate of his own.

          “Aw, baby learned how to feed himself!” she cooed.

          He gestured down at the bench she was sitting on, “Just scoot over, will ya?” he muttered.

          “No. Sit on the other side, Butch,” she remarked.

          “No, I gotta sit on this side, dollface,” he stated, still hovering above her.

          Sandy waited a few moments to see if he would cave and sit opposite her. He didn’t. She huffed, and slid further into the booth. “I swear, you’re such a pain in the ass.” He set his plate on the table and sat where Sandy had just been. “What kind of maniac sits on the same side as someone else?” she challenged.

          “The kind who just wants to be near his girl,” he smirked, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her to him. Sandy was startled. She hadn’t expected him to do that. His arms were strong, she’d known as much before, but in this instance they seemed surprisingly supportive. The last time he’d made a similar motion was to humiliate her in front of his friends, but now his fingers didn’t dig into her side, they were gentle, lingering a bit longer on her waist than was necessary. He pulled them away and tucked into his meal, and Sandy found herself missing the warmth of his hand—for a moment.

          She leaned into him, and in a whisper said “Mack and Wolfe stopped talking. They’re looking this way.”

          He turned to her with a mouth full of food, “let ‘em look.”

          Blushing, she went back to eating her macaroni, and he did the same. They ate in silence for a few minutes, until they were both finished. In the meantime, both Officers Mack and Wolfe had left, as well as Mr. Brotch. Janice was still behind them, playing Zeta Invaders—Sandy could hear the low music from her Pip-Boy.

          “Alright, nosebleed,” Butch began. Upon seeing the scowl from Sandy, he clarified, “it’s like a… cute nickname,” she fake gagged and he continued, “Where do you know in the vault that we can go, and where we aren’t allowed to go?”

          “Is this a riddle?” she asked, confused.

          “No, you dope, I’m just asking a question. We need to go somewhere that we’re definitely not allowed to be. Now I know a couple good spots—but there’s no guaranteeing Wally and Paul won’t be there.”

          She thought for a moment, “What about the reactor room?”

          His eyes widened and he cracked a smile, “That’s perfect.”

* * *

 

          She led the way to the reactor, Butch following close behind. She knew Jonas would be in the clinic, and her father was likely in bed by now, so she didn’t worry about being seen. They took the walk down the isolated hallway and moved down the staircase. It was warm in this lower level, so close to the vault’s main power source. Sandy moved to a corner opposite the stairwell and leaned against the wall. “So,” she inquired, “what are we doing down here?”

          “First thing’s first,” he said. He reached into the inside of his jacket.

          “There’s a pocket on the inside?!” Sandy’s eyes widened.

          He pulled out a bottle of an amber liquid. The label was faded and she couldn’t see what it said. Butch twisted the top off and took a deep drink. He handed the bottle. She lifted it to her lips, then pulled it away.

          “I thought you told me not to drink,” she uttered.

          He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, pulling out two. He lit one for himself, and took a drag. “No,” he said, exhaling, “I told you not to drink alone.”

          She tilted her head, “You never specified. You told me ‘not to get wrapped up in this sort of thing,’ If I recall correctly.”

          “No,” he argued. He handed her the other cigarette and offered her a light. She took and took a long drag while he continued, “I told you not to pass out in your office alone. There ain’t nothing wrong with a little indulgence between friends.”

          “Aww, you think we’re friends?” she batted her eyes again.

          “I think if you don’t take a drink of that rum, I’m gonna finish it myself,” he said. She put it to her lips and took down three swallows. When she was finished, he took the bottle back. “That’s the shit I’m talking about. No girl should be able to hold her liquor like that! You just chugged it and didn’t even flinch! That means you’ve been doing it way too much!”

          Sandy rolled her eyes. “So don’t give me any more,” she reasoned, “but if I’m gonna get a buzz, I want it to start as soon as possible.”

          He chuckled and took another swig himself, “Well I guess you’ve got a point, nosebleed.”

          She took another puff on her cigarette. “Okay,” she blew out, “so, rum and cigarettes. Is this it? Is this the whole night? Aren’t we going to harass the elderly, or break some windows or something?”

          He gave her a look, “Why the hell would we do that?”

          “Isn’t that the kind of thing you and your cronies get up to?”

          “No,” he said, reaching back inside his jacket.

          “You mean to tell me there’s _another_ pocket in there?!” Sandy interrupted.

          “Can it, Sandra. _This_ is the kind of thing the Butch-man gets up to.” He pulled out a can of red spray paint.

          She tilted her head with a confused look. He seemed to sense her question before she asked it. “We’re gonna tag this wall,” he jerked his thumb to point at the wall behind them.

          “Why?” Sandy asked.

          “Because it’s cool, and it’s what we’re gonna do!” he replied.

          “What are we gonna write?” she questioned.

          “Whaddya think? ‘Tunnel Snakes Rule!’ Duh!” he rolled his eyes.

          “But I’m not in the Tunnel Snakes. That doesn’t make any sense,” she reasoned.

          “That’s why I’m in charge. Do you wanna do badass shit or not?” he looked at her, shaking the can.

          Sandy rolled her own eyes, in turn, and grabbed the bottle of rum back from him. She took a swig. He took his jacket off and tossed it to her, mentioning that he didn’t want to get any paint on it. Having satisfactorily shaken the can, Butch began to tag the wall. His strokes were even, and the letters came out looking rather nice, Sandy had to admit. While he worked, she could see the muscles moving beneath his vault suit. Every time he reached up to get a higher spot on the wall and with every movement of his arm, she could see them move. It was its own form of intoxicating. Between the heat of the reactor room and the warmth spreading through her from the alcohol, her suit became quite stifling. She unzipped it just a little more than usual, hoping to relieve some of the heat she felt.

          Butch wrapped up his art project, tossing the now-empty can aside.  He turned back to Sandy, grabbing his jacket. “So, whaddya think? Nice, huh?”

          She turned to look at the wall. In large, bold letters, Butch had written out ‘Tunnel Snakes Rule,’ and as far as graffiti went, she thought it looked good. She looked back to Butch, ready to compliment his art skills, but noticed he wasn’t paying attention to her. She followed the lines of his eyes down to her chest. _Is he really ogling my boobs right now?_

          “My eyes are up here, jackass,” she sneered.

          “Well if you didn’t want me to look,” he said, pulling his jacket back on, “you shouldn’t have tried stripping.”

          “It’s a million degrees in here, Butch! Get a grip!” she turned and walked back over to the stairs. When she looked up, ready to ascend, her head began to spin—that telltale sign that she was well on her way to drunk. She started to climb, slowly, and held on to the railing. Butch, once again, followed closely behind her. After a minute, she made it to the top of the stairs, but misjudged the final step. Her foot slammed into the ground, and she stumbled right into the wall of the hallway. Her body ricocheted off, and she landed spread eagle on her stomach.

          “ _Holy shit!_ Sandy are you okay?!” Butch shouted, kneeling down next to her.

          “Oh, _fuck me_ ,” she groaned, lifting herself up into a sitting position and leaning against the wall, legs outstretched in front of her. Butch sat next to her in the same position, she leaned her head on his shoulder.

          “Are you hurt?” he asked.

          “I might bruise,” she mumbled, “but I think I’m good.”

          Just then, they heard footsteps coming from farther down the hallway, toward the reactor room, toward where they were sitting—and definitely weren’t supposed to be sitting.

          “Sandy, you got a plan to get us out of this?” Butch sat up straight and looked over at her.

          “Well, we can’t run—we’ll run right into them… and Butch! We can’t let them go into the reactor! They’ll know it was us who tagged the wall, they’ll lock us both up!”

          “So what do we do, smart ass?” he barked as the sound of voices got closer.

          Thinking as quickly as she could, Sandy did the only thing she thought might work. She turned and threw one leg over both of his, so that she was straddling his lap and facing him. “You need to kiss me,” she said.

          “I don’t know, Allen. It sounded like it was coming from the reactor,” a voice at the end of the hallway said. Officer Wolfe.

          “Only one way we’re gonna find out,” Officer Mack responded.

          Butch laced his fingers through Sandy’s hair and pulled her in, their lips smashing together abruptly. His other hand he used to grab her hip. She too brought one hand into his hair; the other grabbed a fistful of his vault suit. The contact brought another rush of heat behind her cheeks and between her legs. Their lips moved together, and when she felt his tongue on her lower lip, she let out a low moan. His hand moved down from her hip to grab her ass, and she gasped. She lifted her hips and—

          “Ahem,” came a cough from right behind her. She had almost forgotten they were putting on a show. She pulled back from Butch and climbed off of him, looking up into the face of Officer Mack.

          “Oh… Um… We were… Just… Um...” Sandy stammered.

          “You both know you’re not allowed down this way. Get up, go home. You could probably both use a cold shower. Separately,” the man ordered.

          “Yes, sir. So sorry! I didn’t… I mean…” she mumbled.

          Officer Wolfe sighed, “Both of you, go home. To your own homes. Now.”

          Butch winked at the officers as they walked off, and Sandy swore she heard the men start laughing. Once they were in the clear, Butch grabbed her wrist.

          “Wanna come back to my place and finish where we left off, doll?” he smirked.

          Sandy smiled, “In your dreams, Butchie,” and headed home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH I did not proofread this, I am posting it and going immediately to bed!


	8. The Gospel of Luke

          Sandy managed to stumble her way back home without any more falls. By the time she reached her compartment, however, she was full-fledged drunk. When she walked through the door, she started to giggle. Her father had indeed gone to bed already. _Good thing I don’t have to explain why I’m home late, drunk, and disheveled._

“Hehehe, ‘hiya, dad! Sorry I’m late, I was in the—the room—the energy room—the one with the—anyway we were in there doing _crimes_ and then I had to mack on Butchie the barber so that we could avoid the—the… capture!’ Hehehe,” she mumbled, making her way to the kitchen cabinet.

          “Sugar bombs, sugar bombs, sugar bombs, sugar bombs, sugar bombs, sugar bombs, sugar bombs,” she began to whisper-chant, as she reached up for the box of cereal. She opened it up, reached in, and started tossing them in her mouth as she stumbled her way to the couch. She sat down crosslegged on the sofa and continued to eat the cereal directly from the box. Sandy was content, humming and munching away at her snack. Her mind was adrift, thinking of nothing at all. Then it hit her.

          “I kissed Butch DeLoria,” she whispered to herself. Her hand moved to her lips and traced over them. She recalled the whole scenario over and over in her head. _It was necessary, right? We only kissed because there was nothing else we could do? Of course! It was what we had to do!_

She reclined on the couch, putting her feet up over the arm. She set the box of Sugar Bombs on the ground and sighed.

          “I’m gonna rest my eyes. Justaminuteokay. Okay,” she garbled. She closed her eyes and promptly fell asleep.

          She awoke to the sound of a crunch, followed by her father’s sigh. She opened her eyes and looked around. Apparently she had never made it back to her bed last night. She saw her dad standing only a few feet from her, then realized what made the crunching noise. The box of Sugar Bombs she thought she had set on the ground before falling asleep had apparently spilled all over the floor of the room.

          “I’m guessing alcohol was involved,” her father said.

          Sandy ran her hand over her face, “Yes. I’m sorry. I’ll do better,”

          “Just…clean this up, will you? I’m running late for my shift at the clinic,” he looked to her.

          “Yes. Sorry. Love you, dad,” she replied.

          “Love you too, sweetheart,” he said, walking out of the compartment.

          Sandy stood up, going to grab a broom and dustpan. She cleaned up the cereal from the floor and deposited it in the trash. She checked the clock in the family kitchen—8:15am. She still had time to get ready before she had to go to work. Their shower had been fixed two days after the incident with Wally, so she had no need to worry about another such encounter—at least not while she was getting ready for the day.

          In the shower, Sandy shampooed and rinsed her hair. She reached down for the bottle of conditioner she bought the day after Butch cut her hair. _Butch,_ she thought, and felt a very unexpected twinge in her lower abdomen.

          “Oh my god,” she gasped, “I kissed Butch DeLoria.” Her cheeks started to warm. “And I think… I think I liked it.”

* * *

 

          She was sitting in the chaplain’s office, reading the Gospel of Luke and writing down some notes. It was one of her favorite religious texts—that’s what she would say if anyone ever bothered to visit her for spiritual guidance. Focusing on the words in the book, however, allowed her to ignore all that she had to consider in her own life.

          “Love your enemies, and do good to those who hate you,” she read aloud, “not quite the easiest advice to follow.”

          “I don’t know, you seem to be following that one just fine,” Sandy heard someone say. She looked up, and leaning in the doorway was the Amata, her arms crossed. Her friend walked all the way in and sat on the couch.

          “Not quite sure I follow, Ams,” Sandy said.

          “News travels fast and rumors travel faster, Sandy. You and Butch seem to be warming up to one another, if Janice Wilkins can be believed.”

          “We ate dinner together,” Sandy shrugged.

          “You better stop being so tight-lipped or you can try to find a new best friend,” Amata threatened, “You don’t just _have dinner_ with Butch DeLoria. There’s more to this story and you’d better tell me before I find out from someone else.”

          She didn’t know if she was allowed to let anyone in on her and Butch’s plan, but she trusted Amata completely. If there was one person who could keep the secret it was her.

          Sandy took a very deep breath. “It’s going to be a very long story, Amata,” she warned.

          “Well, I’m waiting. And it’s not like there’s a line of people waiting for your services, so you’ve got plenty of time to tell me,” the girl replied.

          “After the incident in the diner—and the encounter with Wally—I found out that Butch hadn’t denied peoples’ assumptions about us. I went to ask him why, and I found out it was because he wanted Susie to stop bothering him all the time. We kind of reached a deal,” Amata’s eyebrows raised at this, and Sandy sighed before continuing, “that I’m going to go along with. We’re fake dating. Susie leaves him alone, Wally will hopefully leave me alone, and there’s an added bonus: free haircuts!”

          Amata put her head in her hands. When she lifted it, she was smiling. “I don’t want to say it, Sandy, but I’m gonna.”

          “What, tell me what a bad idea this is going to turn out to be? Believe me, I know,” Sandra lamented.

          “No. Not that. Just that… I told you so,” Amata beamed.

          “Not ever in our entire friendship did you even once mention that I would fake a relationship with Butch DeLoria,” Sandy replied, crossing her arms.

          “No, but I did tell you he liked you,” she said and Sandy scoffed. Amata held up a hand and continued, “He likes you. He came up with some elaborate scheme where he convinced you to help him out, pretend to be his girl. He’s going to try and win you over by forcing you to spend time with him. The two of you are going to fall in love, get married, and have little mini Tunnel Snake babies. The vault is gonna be full of them. All running around with greasy hair and pocket knives.”

          The two friends burst out in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. It took several minutes for the rancor to die down, for every few seconds they’d picture it all over again.

          “Okay,” Amata finally breathed, “Time to get down to business.”

          “Hmm?” Sandy asked.

          “My father actually sent me. He wants to see you in his office. Immediately,” her friend informed her. Upon seeing Sandy’s look, she added, “I don’t know why. He wouldn’t tell me. But he didn’t sound very happy.”

          “Well, shit.”

* * *

 

          Apparently her father forbade Amata from sitting in on this particular meeting, so she agreed to watch the shop and the office while Sandy was out. There was a bad feeling growing in her stomach about what this meeting was for. _He found out,_ she thought, _he found out and now I’m in huge trouble for the rest of my life._ She made her way through the halls of the vault to the Overseer’s office. The door was closed when she arrived, so she gave three firm raps and waited. After a moment, it slid open, and she walked in.

          “Overseer, you wanted to see—“ she began, but stopped dead in her tracks. There were two chairs pulled in front of the desk. One was empty—presumably for her—and in the other sat Butch.

          “Miss Donahue, how nice of you to finally join us. Sit,” the man ordered. His voice was venomous. No wonder: the two people he hated most in the world sat right in front of him. Sandy took her seat. Alphonse Almodovar was not the type of man who would let you forget he was in charge. Every move and decision he made was to remind the vault that he was top dog. He stared them both down for a minute or two before he spoke. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you two are…involved,” he spoke the last word with absolute disdain. “You have never, as long as you’ve lived, been able to stay out of trouble. You’re delinquents, and I know that you’re deliberately trying to undermine my authority. I will not have it.”

          Sandy couldn’t really understand what he was getting at. Sure, Butch has always been a troublemaker, but the only ruckus she ever caused was when he would provoke her. Outside of Butch DeLoria, Sandra Donahue was a model citizen.

          “There a point in you harassing us, old man?” Butch spoke out.

          “I know it was the two of you who vandalized Vault Tec property last night. If you own up to it now, the consequences will be significantly less,” he responded coldly.

          Butch said nothing, just looked over at Sandy, who wouldn’t make eye contact, she was staring at her lap. _There’s no way he can prove it,_ she thought, _even if Wolfe and Mack saw us nearby, there was no way they found the graffiti right away, which means anyone could have done it. And there aren’t any cameras in the reactor room; they would interfere with the energy field surrounding the reactor. He has nothing. He’s bluffing._ She looked up and made eye contact with her best friend’s father, “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.” In her peripheral she saw Butch smirk.

          “Don’t lie to me, Sandra. Two of my officers placed you both at the scene of the crime,” Alphonse sneered.

          “Well, we did run into Officers Mack and Wolfe yesterday, but—as I’m sure they told you—we were a little…preoccupied,” Sandy said, leaning back in her chair. _Power move. Let’s see your next play, boss._ Sandy and the Overseer were doing a very intricate dance. One misstep and it would all be over for her. She was very lucky Butch seemed to be letting her take the lead on this one. She was afraid his big mouth would ruin what she was working so hard to get around.

          The man was enraged. The anger radiating off him was almost tangible. “It’s absolutely reprehensible that our vault chaplain has such poor morals,” he seethed.

          “How can you say to your brother ‘let me take the speck of dust from your eye’ when you see not the beam in your own. O, false one, first take the beam from your own eye, so that you may see better to remove the dust from that of your brother,” Sandy recalled a verse she had read only minutes ago, “the Gospel of Luke, chapter six, verse forty-two.”

          “You want to do this the hard way? Alright. The both of you had better watch your every move. I know I will be. One misstep and you’re in for it,” Alphonse threatened.

          “What are you gonna do,” Butch finally spoke out, “throw us in lockup? We ain’t afraid of you, old man!”

          “Get the hell out of my office, both of you, immediately,” the Overseer said.

          Sandy and Butch both stood and walked out of the room. As they walked down the hallway, he started laughing.

          “What?” she asked, turning to look at him.

          “Who knew goody-two-shoes nosebleed was such a hardass?” he smirked.

           “I just can’t stand that man! He’s always had it in for me and my father! He hates us both even though we’ve given him no reason to! But you know what, Butch, now I’m gonna give him a reason,” she fumed.

          He grinned back at her. “I like this new Sandy, raising hell. You got a plan?”

          “The only person he hates as much as me is you, Butch. Did you see his face when he said ‘ _involved_ ’?” she mimicked his voice for emphasis, earning a laugh from him. “He really hates us as a pair. I say we go all in on this,” she gestured between the two of them. “All the perks from the previous arrangement, with the added bonus of pissing off that pigheaded fuck.”

          Butch stopped dead in his tracks, grabbing ahold of Sandy’s wrist. She stopped too, and looked at him. His grin now stretched from ear to ear. “Well then we’ve gotta turn it up a notch,” he agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I modeled drunk Sandy off of drunk me--I was crying laughing when I wrote the Sugar Bombs line.


	9. Score One for the Butch-man

          When they walked back into her office—together—Butch’s arm was draped over her shoulders, and hers was around his waist. Amata looked up from the book she was reading. She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head.

          “Why?” was all she said.

          “Your old man is cruisin’ for a brusin’, that’s why,” Butch said.

          “What?” she asked, turning to Sandy.

          “Butch and I are taking our relationship to the next level,” he rolled his eyes, and she continued, “Your dad tried to pin some kind of vandalism on us without any proof,” she explained, breaking away from Butch. Amata didn’t need to know that they were actually guilty. The less people that knew, the better. She headed to the mini-fridge she kept behind the desk and grabbed three Nuka Colas. Butch and Amata each took one, and Sandy hopped up to sit cross-legged on her desk, taking a swig.

          “I’m sure he had good reason to assume! I know you don’t like him, Sandy, but that just doesn’t sound like something he would do,” Amata defended her father.

          “And I know he’s your dad, but can you maybe stop being so blind and realize that he really does have it in for me? He threatened us, and I don’t appreciate you always defending him!” Sandy snapped.

          “Stop being _blind?!”_ Amata’s voice rose, “That’s my _father!_   Like it or not, he _is_ the Overseer! And he really does have the vault’s best interests at heart, Sandra! Maybe _you_ should have some respect for authority!” She was yelling by the end.

          “I do respect _legitimate_ authority,” Sandy bristled, “just not power-hungry control freaks.”

          Amata slammed her bottle down and stood abruptly. She stalked off toward the door and turned around, “Sooner or later you’re going to realize you’re wrong, Donahue! I’ll be ready for your apology when you do!”And with that, she left.

          Butch opened his mouth to crack a joke, but Sandy reacted quicker. She jumped off the desk and threw her bottle at the door her friend just walked out of. It exploded, sending cola and glass shards everywhere. Butch turned to face her, she was shaking.

          “Woah there, Ace. Let a guy know the next time you start throwin’ fastballs,” he quipped. She didn’t so much as react. “Hey, Sandy, look at me. Look at me,” he said, slowly walking toward her. She did, and he could see her eyes, angry but welling with tears. “Sandy, it’s gonna be alright, yeah?”

          She glared back at him and the first of the tears started to fall. “She was my only friend, Butch. What the fuck did I do? What did I do?” She fell back against the desk and started sobbing into her hands. He hesitated for a moment before he moved to her and wrapped her in his arms. Her head fell against his shoulder and she continued to cry.

          “She’ll get over it, Sandy. The two of you are damn inseparable,” he soothed.

          She sniffed, “We’ve never fought like this before.”

          “Even more reason why she’s gonna run back to you and apologize first. You’re her only friend too, nosebleed. Now who’s she gonna talk to? Her psycho pops? Freddie? I gotta admit, I feel bad for her! Look at her options! She’s gonna die of boredom by the end of the week,” he joked. Sandy gave a weak laugh and sniffed again. “Now pull yourself together, you’re gonna get snot all over my jacket!” He said, letting her go and brushing himself off.

          Sandy wiped her eyes and then sighed. “And now I’ve gotta clean this up,” she said, exasperated and pointing at the broken class and puddle of Nuka.

          Butch sat down in her chair and put his feet up on the desk. He took a drink and laughed, “Wouldn’t expect anything less from a delinquent like you, Donahue.”

* * *

 

          Butch stayed with her in her office all day.

          “You’ve got a nice setup, ya know?” he asked. “This is a good gig.”

          “Eh, I guess. It gets boring after a while,” she pointed at the bookshelf, “I’ve read all of these twice already.”

          Butch looked over where she pointed and his eyes widened, “are you fuckin’ kidding me? You’re such a geek! There’s gotta be a hundred books there!”

          “There’s thirty, Butch. Can you not count to thirty?” she asked.

          “Oh can it! Of course I can count to thirty, I just ain’t gonna brag about it like you,” he snipped. She gave him an exasperated look and he changed the subject. “You got any smokes in here?”

          “Top left drawer,” she replied.

          He opened the drawer, pulled out the pack, and grinned. “Sandy, I ever tell you you’re the girl of my dreams?”

          “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she rolled her eyes. He lit his cigarette and walked to sit next to her on the couch. He offered her one and she accepted. He watched her mouth closely as she inhaled, and as she pursed her lips to blow out. She looked over and noticed his focus. “What?” she snapped.

          “If you want, we can pick up where we left off last night,” Butch smirked. She took another drag.

          She blew a stream of smoke right in his face, “You’re a pig.”

          “What?! You can’t just pull a stunt like that and then leave a guy hanging!” he complained.

          “That _stunt_ kept us from getting thrown in jail. That _stunt_ was because you couldn’t think of a plan in time, and I saved our asses,” Sandy insisted.

          He laughed, “You can lie to yourself all you want, doll. I know you liked it,” he imitated her moan nearly perfectly.

          “Oh, _fuck you_!” she barked, elbowing him in the ribs. _You’re only mad because he’s spot on,_ said a voice in the back of her head. He started laughing. “You know,” she snipped, “I’m sure Susie would be willing to help you out.”

          “Nuh uh!” he exclaimed, “I’d rather be one of those… whaddya call em? The guys in robes with bad haircuts!”

          “…Monks?” she filled in.

          “Yeah! I’d rather be one of those no-sex havin’ monks than deal with Susie Mack’s bullshit again!”

          Sandy rolled her eyes. “Yeah,” she laughed, “that’ll be the day.”

* * *

 

          “You sure this is gonna work, Donahue?” Butch asked as they walked toward the diner.

          “Positive. Alphonse Almodovar eats his dinner at 6:15 every night, no exceptions. He’ll be in there, and we’ll sit down right in his field of view, so he has no choice but to see us together. It’ll surely piss him off and hopefully ruin his day completely,” she assured.

          “Alright, but I’m warning you now, nosebleed. If we’re turning it up a notch, I’m gonna get pretty handsy. Try and keep up, yeah?” he said, stopping just outside the door.

          “Aww, Butch. You and I both know you’re just looking for a reason to feel me up,” she teased. Then she leaned up and whispered in his ear, “try and keep up, yeah?”

          Sandy walked through the door, Butch hot on her tail. Immediately she noticed the Overseer sitting in the far corner, his back to the wall. _So he can see what everyone else is doing, nosy bastard._ There were other people in the diner at this time, but no one she considered to be of any significance. She and Butch stood at the counter while Andy dished out their food. Standing behind her, Butch wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her body flush against his. He brought his mouth to her ear, “It’s game on, Sandra.”

          Sandy was afraid this would happen. He’d turned it into a game; a challenge. It was the one thing she couldn’t turn down. She and Butch were so competitive that they might just end up having sex on a table in the middle of the diner in an attempt to outdo one another. _Pace yourself, Sandra,_ she thought. _If you just pace yourself, nothing has to get out of hand._

          “Aww Butch,” she said, fake giggling, “come on, not in the diner!”

          He chuckled under his breath and then bit down on her neck, hard enough that she was genuinely shocked and gave a small squeal. He muffled his laughter into her shoulder. She wriggled her way out of his grasp, grabbed their food from the Mr. Handy and walked to an empty booth only a couple tables over from the Overseer. They were close enough that if they talked at a normal volume, he should be able to hear some of their ‘flirting.’ Glancing over, she could see that the man was, in fact, staring at them, and he had a deep scowl on his face.

          “You slide in first, handsome,” she drawled, gesturing for Butch to sit.

          He moved past her, pinching her ass on the way. She didn’t squeal this time, but her body did jolt. As he sat, he turned back to her and winked.

          “Butchie, you know I don’t like you doing that in front of everyone!” she whined, sliding in close to him with their food.

          “That’s not what I recall from last night, sugar,” he replied, digging into his food.

          They ate their food mostly in silence, although Sandy did make a point of draping her legs over Butch’s lap, saying, “I just like this position better, you know?”

          To which he responded with a wink: “Yeah, I know how much you like to be on top.” She almost spit out her Nuka Cola.

          When they were finished, they got up and left without further incident, but his arm did not leave her waist the entire time. As they cleared the area of the diner, Sandy tried to split off and return to her own home, but Butch held on.

          “What?” she turned to him.

          “After that horny fuckin’ display in there? We can’t be seen going home separately. You need to come home with me, just for a convincing amount of time,” he explained.

          She hadn’t thought of that. “I guess I didn’t think about it that thoroughly,” she admitted.

          “Yeah, yeah. Butch DeLoria, here to save the day from Sandy’s shitty plans,” he said, lighting a cigarette. He took a drag and exhaled a long stream of smoke, “Butch: One. Nosebleed: None.”

          “I’m sorry, what?” she asked as they walked into his place.

          “Your performance back there. It stunk. Score one for the Butch-man,” he boasted.

          She had to admit he was right. She had planned to outfox him at every turn, but she ended up just handing him the reins. He had won the first round. “Fine,” she admitted, “but you’d better relish in it, cause that’s the last win you’re gonna get.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't stop thinking about that viral tweet where the guy bragged about having read 30 books. I wrote this before that, so it's extra funny.


	10. Filler

          Sandy flopped down on Butch’s couch and put her feet up on one arm. He went to the fridge to grab a beer while she started a new game of Red Menace on her Pip-Boy.

          He walked over and looked down at her, spread out on his couch. “Make yourself at home, why don’t ya?”

          She rolled her eyes but didn’t look up from her game. “What? I’m not allowed to be comfortable at my _boyfriend’s_ house?” she joked.

          “If you want to get really comfortable, my bed ain’t that far,” he winked, taking a swig.

          “No, that’s okay. Since we’re pretending, I only need to be here, what? Two minutes?” she looked up and smirked.

          He sat on the arm of the sofa and rested the hand not holding a beer on her ankle. He started tracing light patterns with his fingers, “You keep making these jokes, Sandy,” he began, voice low, “But I think it’s because you really wanna find out what a night with the Butch-man is like.”

          She shuddered, small and almost imperceptible, but Butch seemed to notice. Sandy kicked her ankle free and sat up, bringing them back to their casual banter. “As… _pleasurable_ as that sounds,” she started, “I’m gonna take a hard pass.”

          “Whatever you say, Donahue,” he shrugged, “I’ll be here when you realize how much you want me.”

          She headed toward the door of his compartment, “Not to put too fine a point on it, but I’d rather take a direct hit from a nuke.”

          Before he could respond to her gibe, the door opened. They both turned to see Paul and Wally walk in. Paul nodded at Sandy as he walked by, Wally just glared.

          Sandy rolled her eyes. “Well don’t let me hold up guys’ night. I’d hate to keep Wally from roughing up his next victim,” she glared at him. She knew she shouldn’t have said it, but she couldn’t help herself.

          “Excuse me?” he rounded on her.

          Butch shot up off the couch, but Sandy was quicker, “Did I stutter, Mack?”

          “You better watch what you say to me, _Sandra_ ,” he seethed.

          “Wally,” Butch interrupted, “cool it.”

          “He isn’t gonna do shit,” she goaded.

          “What? Now that you’ve got _Butchie_ to protect you, you think you’re invincible?” Wally sneered.

          “Maybe not invincible, but I’m not naked this time. The odds are less stacked, wouldn’t you say?” she snipped, stepping halfway out the door, “You boys enjoy your night.”

 

* * *

 

          She walked back home thinking about what had transpired. For some reason, the idea had crossed her mind that Butch and Wally were no longer friends. _Maybe I’m giving myself too much credit,_ she thought, _thinking that he’d ever have chosen me over Wally. Of course they’re still friends. They’re best friends. Maybe they just don’t talk about it?_ But she didn’t understand how they couldn’t. She and Amata talked about everything. Her heart ached when she thought of her friend. She didn’t want to be at odds with Amata, but she knew she also wouldn’t apologize. Sandy meant every word she’d said about the Overseer over the years, and it would be dishonest for her to take them back.

          Sandy made it back to her compartment and walked in to find her father sitting on the couch reading. He wasn’t working on anything at all. It was unusual.

          “Hey, dad. Something wrong?” she chirped, sitting beside him on their couch.

          “Not at all, sweetheart,” he replied. “Just taking a break from my experiments, so I can return to them with a fresh set of eyes.”

          “It’s probably for the best,” she agreed, picking up another book from the side table.

          They sat in amiable silence for a little while, both engaged in their books, when James spoke up, “Jonas tells me you’re seeing the DeLoria boy.”

          Sandy closed her eyes and took a deep breath before looking at her father. He was still holding his book, but was clearly paying it no mind. “I thought you didn’t like to engage in ‘mindless gossip,’” she accused.

          “That wasn’t a denial,” he spoke smoothly.

          “It’s…complicated,” Sandy replied.

          James set down his book and turned to face her, “You can do better than that. You two have been at odds your whole lives and have suddenly both had a change of heart?”

          Sandy said nothing.

          “Don’t think that it has slipped my notice that this newfound… kinship…only started right after you were assaulted. Was he the one that hurt you? Is he forcing you into something you’re not comfortable with?” James never raised his voice, but Sandy could see the fire in his eyes.

          “No, no, no, no, no!” Sandy spoke up, setting her book down and shaking her head. She sighed and continued, “Butch did not lay a hand on me. It wasn’t him. I… We’re—seeing each other…But it’s not forced! He’s actually a very nice guy under all that…machismo.” Her father visibly relaxed.

          “Well, that’s good to hear,” he replied, “But it brings up another concern. You two are young, and I know how emotions run high when you’re such an age. I just want to make sure that the two of you are smart enough to use—“

          “Ugh! Please don’t give me a safe-sex talk! Gross!” Sandy complained, covering her ears for effect.

          “I’m your doctor, Sandra,” he said.

          “You’re my dad, dad!” she griped.

          “I just want to make sure that you know—“ but he was interrupted again.

          “We’ve had this discussion before, and I _assure_ you: I retained all the information. As a matter of fact, it’s _burned_ into my memory. I can literally never forget. I _really_ don’t want to have this discussion again. Everything is under control. I promise. May I be excused?” Sandy pleaded.

          James sighed, “Yes. Goodnight, Sandy.”

          “Night!” she shouted back over her shoulder, nearly sprinting into her bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this chapter isn't my best work. It's titled "filler" because that's really all it is. I really just uploaded it to let y'all know I'm not abandoning this work. It's my final semester of undergrad, and I'm more focused on that than on coming up with good content for this story. Hopefully (fingers crossed) I can put out an ACTUAL chapter later this week. We'll see.


	11. Go to Sleep, Sandy

          She didn’t get into as much trouble as she figured, hanging out with Butch all the time. Over the course of the next two weeks, they saw one another at least once a day, sometimes only briefly, but sometimes they’d spend a whole afternoon together. Sandy felt like she could finally consider him a friend.

          _It probably helps that he’s back in league with Wally and Paul,_ she thought, _they can keep causing trouble on their own, and I don’t have to get involved._

          It was another one of her slow days in the commissary. She usually only expected one person every day: Ellen. The woman’s visits with Sandy had gotten significantly longer and friendlier since she’d begun hanging around Butch. This time she had walked in around lunch, while Sandy was eating a peanut butter sandwich and reading _Silent Spring._ When Ellen walked in, Sandy could smell immediately that she’d begun her day drinking early.

          “Honestly, Sandy, I’m telling you! I’ve known for years that Butchie was going to become a barber! When he was just eight months old, I got my haircut, and he cried for a week straight afterward!” Sandy burst out laughing at the woman’s story, but she continued, “And I never tried that hairstyle again!”

          When Sandy regained her composure, she chimed, “That’s amazing! I can picture the sad, smug look on his little face!” Both women burst out again.

          The women chatted a while longer, Ellen sharing some of her favorite embarrassing Butch stories, which Sandy appreciated.

          “Well I suppose I’d better let you get back to it, hun. What’s saying you stop by my compartment later and we do a little more baking?” the woman asked, turning to leave.

          “Count me in, Ellen,” Sandy smiled. She hadn’t spent time with nearly anyone but Butch over the last couple weeks. She and Amata still weren’t talking, her father got back into the groove with his experiments, and Jonas was helping him every step of the way. Her companionship options were exhausted. Ellen was a sweet woman, and her best option.

          “See you at 7:30, Sandy,” she replied as she walked out.

          The rest of her shift was uneventful. As expected, the store was dead. Stanley Armstrong came in for two minutes to buy a Nuka Cola. _The pinnacle of an exciting life,_ she mused.

          Sandy closed up the commissary, made sure the chaplain’s office was locked, and headed home to wash up before going to Ellen’s. When she got home, she washed her face, then ran a comb through her hair and braided it. She made sure—at Butch’s insistence—to let a few wisps of hair fall out of the braid and ‘ _frame your face’_ as he’d put it. Satisfied, she headed to Ellen’s.

 

* * *

 

          They were having even more fun this time around. They knew one another better, and had Butch in common to joke about, so there were hardly any uncomfortable lulls in conversation.

          Sandy wanted to avoid another lecture from Butch, so she scaled back dramatically on her alcohol intake with his mom. Instead of getting plastered, she only had enough to make her just a little over tipsy. After a while, the two finished baking—brownies this time—and they sat down to relax on the couch. Ellen stretched out and put her feet up on the coffee table, drinking directly from her bottle of vodka while Sandy nursed a beer.

         “I hope he’s good to you, Sandy,” Ellen mumbled.

          Sandy, who had been staring directly at the wall in front of her for several moments, didn’t hear her at first. When it registered that her companion had spoken, she said “come again?”

         “I hope my Butchie is good to you,” she repeated.

          The girl’s face flushed. It might be a little uncomfortable to talk about Butch with his mom if they were really dating. It was altogether mortifying when it was all just an elaborate scheme. “He…um… he is, Ellen. Butch is a great guy.”

         “That’s good, dear. I don’t think I could bear it if he ended up like me. I’m a big enough fuck up for the entire vault. I don’t want my baby to follow in my footsteps.”

          Sandy looked over to see a few tears falling down the woman’s face. She rested a hand on her forearm for support. “Don’t say that, Ellen. You’re not! You’re one of the most kind, fun, loving people in the vault,” Sandy comforted.

          The woman looked up at her and laughed. “I know you’re trying to make me feel better, sweetheart, but save your breath. I know who I am. I’m a drunk. I have been for longer than you’ve been here. I work in the laundry room, Sandra. It’s the only job the Overseer would give me. Not only that, but I lost the only man I ever loved. All because I never let him know. I didn’t tell him how much he meant to me, because I was too wrapped up in this,” she shook the bottle for emphasis, “He walked right out of my life. I found out I was pregnant. I vowed not to lose my baby, to make sure he never felt less important than the drink.”

          Ellen paused. Sandy didn’t know whether she should say something or not, so she sat in silence until Ellen spoke again.

           “I didn’t drink a drop when I was pregnant, you know?” she was smiling, “Not one. Butch was born and he was perfect and I was the happiest I’d ever been... But then it became too much. I was alone. His father made it _clear_ he wanted nothing to do with me. I had this beautiful little boy who would never know his daddy because I fucked up. I ruined everything. And as you can see, I didn’t keep my promise. I know he’s ashamed of me. I turned back to the bottle before he even turned one. I’m weak and a coward and a failure.”

          Every piece of Sandy’s heart wanted to comfort Ellen in that moment. To make her feel better, to make her feel loved, but she didn’t know how. “Ellen, I—” she tried to begin.

          “I don’t need your pity, honey. It feels worse than everyone else’s disdain. I’m just glad my Butch is better than I am. He has friends, a girl that he adores, a job that he’s good at. I’m proud of him, and I’m so thankful for you.”

          Sandy’s face went beet red after ‘a girl that he adores,’ and it wasn’t clearing quickly. She simply leaned back and polished off her beer, not knowing what she ought to say to that admission. Ellen tipped back the bottle of vodka and drained it. The women sat in silence for what seemed like ages. Sandy finally looked over, ready to tell the woman she was going to head home, but Ellen was already passed out.

          She stood and tidied up as best she could, collecting empty bottles and placing them all together on the counter. She tossed a throw blanket over Ellen, and left.

           It was just after 11:30. Sandy knew it would be her best bet to go straight home, but she couldn’t. It had been a while since she’d been on an emotional rollercoaster like that, and she didn’t want to lie at home in bed thinking about it all night. _Plus, what will dad say if I come home drunk again? He already tried to give me a sex talk, I don’t need an intervention at age 22._

          There weren’t any rules against roaming the halls at night—unless you were intoxicated. Security wouldn’t stop people who just wanted a peaceful walk, but Sandy knew they had a low tolerance for stumbling drunks. Not wanting to go home, and also not interested in spending the night in lockup, she made her way to the one place she thought she could go.

          She was outside Butch’s apartment before it even registered in her mind. She raised her fist and knocked on the door. There was no answer. She knocked even harder, and waited, leaning against the frame and closing her eyes. After a minute, she could hear some shuffling around, and the door finally opened.

          “Finally,” she muttered, “I’ve only been out here for nine _hours._ ”

          “Sandy, what the hell are you doing here?” he asked. She opened her eyes and looked over at him, her mouth falling open. Butch was standing there, dripping, wearing nothing but a towel. He wasn’t ripped like the heroes in comic books, but he was…refined. He had a reasonable amount of hair on his chest, and there was a lovely little trail of it just above the top of his towel. His bare arms looked as strong as she knew them to be. The muscles of his biceps were defined and made her mouth water. She looked up to his face, it was smug—as usual, but his hair was wet, falling down around his face and over his ears in a way that was…enchanting.

          “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he chuckled.

          “I just…um…yeah, so… um…anyway. I was hoping you’d be here because I don’t really want to go home yet,” she stammered.

          He motioned her inside. She walked in, the door shut behind them, and he made his way back to the bathroom. “I think you just knew I’d be naked, and you wanted a good look,” he called back over his shoulder.

          Sandy grabbed a pillow off his couch and laid down on the floor, face down into the pillow. She groaned. _You two are friends. This is a fake relationship. You’re not allowed to be attracted to him,_ she told herself. _Then he’s not allowed to look that goddamn good,_ she argued back.

          She heard him walk back into the room, but she refused to look up. “How’s my ma?” he asked.

          That one stumped her. She looked up _So much for my resolve._ He was standing over her wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of boxers. _Ugh why can’t he put on some real fucking clothes?!_ “What?” she asked.

          “You were with my mother. How is she?” he rolled his eyes.

          “How did you know I was with your mom? I haven’t seen you since breakfast.”

          “You know, it’s surprising, Sandy, but I do talk to her as well.” Sandy couldn’t tell for sure, but he seemed to be both annoyed and entertained.

          “Oh,” she looked back at the ground, “I mean, she’s probably good? I don’t know. Things got really personal, and like…emotional. Not gonna lie she kinda killed the good mood. Now I’m just kind of…sad.”

          Butch laughed. “Oh, you mean good-time Ellen wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows after she got hammered? Made you feel kinda guilty, did she? Like the whole world is shit and there’s nothing you can really do about it? Definitely wouldn’t know what that’s like, nosebleed.”

          She didn’t respond, just pressed her face back into the pillow. Butch’s footsteps moved away, he didn’t say anything else. She heard the creak of his mattress and the flick of a switch, and when she looked up, it was dark.

          “Butch, what the hell?” she wondered, looking around though she could see nothing.

          “I’m sorry, Donahue, do you need a babysitter? I’m going to bed. If you wanna stay here, you know where the couch is.”

          Sandy huffed a little bit, but didn’t argue. If she was being honest with herself, she was surprised he would let her stay the night here. She fumbled around in the dark, trying to get herself to the sofa. When she found it, she flopped down. In the quiet, it didn’t take her long to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

          She awoke to the feeling of warm hands on her arms.

          “Sandy.”

          It was her name, but she didn’t want to hear it.

          “Sandy.”

          She tried to turn over, get back to sleep, but the voice wouldn’t let her.

          “Jesus, Sandy, wake up already,”

          She groaned as the hands shook her awake. Her eyes opened slightly, but it was still dark in the room. “Wharrhuhhhh,” she mumbled. Her neck felt very, very stiff.

          “Get up, come on,” he urged.

          “What—what’s wrong?” she yawned. It was Butch. She was still on his couch.

          “You fell asleep and your snoring’s kept me awake for an hour. Get up.”

          “I don’t snore,” she protested quietly.

          “You do when your damn neck is bent like that. Come on, I’m not losing any more sleep tonight,” he insisted.

          She groaned and rolled off the couch onto the floor. “Butch, I’m too tired to walk home.”

          “Nosebleed, if you don’t get your ass off the ground, I’m gonna drag you by your hair,” he warned.

          “And ruin all your hard work? I don’t think so,” she muttered, curling up with the pillow on the floor.

          Suddenly she felt his hands under her arms, lifting her up—but not completely. He started dragging her across the floor.

          “What the fuck!? Put me down you fucking menace!” she shouted. It didn’t come out with the full force she intended, her voice was still heavy with sleep.

          Instead he lifted her up higher, and let go, tossing her. She completely expected to hit the ground with a painful impact. Instead, she landed on his mattress and bounced.

          “Butch have you lost your goddamn mind?!” she demanded.

          She felt him climb in next to her. “Go to sleep,” he said, laying down.

          “What makes you think—” she was cut off.

          “Either go to sleep, Sandy, or go home,” he said with finality, pulling the blankets over top of him.

          She huffed for a moment longer and then laid down. She really didn’t want to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I brought Ellen back in this chapter because I love her... but not as much as I love Butch, honestly the two don't even compare.
> 
> A couple things: 1) I read all your comments and I love and appreciate them even if I don't always respond. 2) I've had my laptop since 2010 and it's very close to breathing its last breaths RIP; but I got a new one this morning and I was so excited to use it that I wrote this chapter in one sitting, I hope you liked it.


	12. Mornin' Doll

          Sandy was walking through a city. It was all jagged edges and uneven platforms, and dull shades of gray and brown. She’d never been outside the vault, but this place felt…familiar. The sky was a hazy yellow. There were no cotton candy clouds, no beautiful shining sun. She walked up a steep incline, ramshackle stairs made out of old boards, sinking into the mud beneath. There were buildings—huts, really—made out of sheet metal and plywood, with tin roofs and no windows. She walked over the platforms, around people who wouldn’t look up, people with faces so ordinary that she forgot them as soon as they turned away. She was walking toward one building. She felt called to it and didn’t know why. She reached out to grab the handle and tripped. But she never hit the ground.

          Sandy was jolted from her dream, her whole body flinching. She found herself in that state between dreams and reality, when one isn’t entirely sure what’s real and what’s imagined. _I need to get through that door,_ she thought. Her mind swam around, something was off, and she needed to figure out what it was. _No, I’m in bed. I can feel my blankets. I’ve got a lot of heavy blankets. I need to get up and get to the door. But where is that building? It’s got to be nearby. But I’m in bed. I live in a vault. I’ve never even seen a real building._ After a few such moments of clearing fact from fiction, Sandy noticed how dry her throat was. She thought about ignoring it. She was so warm, she didn’t want to get up and lose any heat.

          Deciding to get it over with, Sandy tried to get up—but she couldn’t. She wiggled a little bit, trying to free herself from the heavy blankets. _Arms?_ She thought. _These aren’t even blankets. They’re arms. Whose arms are these?_

          It only hit her when she breathed in and smelled his soap and cigarettes. _Oh no._

          She opened her eyes in the dark. _Oh no_. The previous night flooded back to her. She was lying in bed, wrapped in the arms of Butch DeLoria. They were facing one another, her head tucked into his chest, and his arms wrapped around her back, one of them rested just below her shoulder blades, the other dangerously close to her ass. One of her hands was resting between them on his chest, the other sat on his waist. His shirt had ridden up and she could feel his bare skin. It was burning. _Oh no._ _No, no, no, no, no. Shit, shit, shit._

          She looked around the room, hoping that something would jump out and tell her what she was supposed to do in this situation. She couldn’t tell if the daytime lights were on in the hallway, so she had no idea whether or not it was morning. _Am I supposed to just wait it out? Let him be the first to ‘wake up’? Do I need to put a stop to this now? I should just go home. If I get out of bed fast enough, I can run home before he even knows what’s happened. Is he a light sleeper? What if he confronts me? What if he doesn’t confront me, and we’re both too scared to wake up first, and so neither of us do and I have to spend the rest of my life in bed with Butch?_

          Her thoughts were racing a mile a minute. She gave serious thought to running out, to drawing a clear line in the sand of the extent of she and Butch’s fake relationship, but one thing stopped her. _He’s so warm._ His arms felt so good wrapped around her. She felt comfortable. She felt safe. Deciding to leave the worry up to him, she nuzzled herself deeper into his embrace and slowly drifted back to sleep.

* * *

           When she woke again, it was to a light rumble. She yawned and opened her eyes to see she was still staring at Butch’s chest. It was significantly less dim in the room, the daytime lights having clearly come on in the hallway, giving a false sense of daylight to the room. She blinked a few times while her eyes adjusted, and then looked up. Butch was awake, and he was looking down at her. When their eyes met, he didn’t look away.

          “Mornin’ doll,” he chuckled.

          Her eyes widened as she pretended to be surprised by their position. “What—what the hell?”

          He laughed again—Sandy could feel the rumble from his chest, that’s what must have woken her up. He was laughing. “I told you you wouldn’t be able to resist the Butch-man.”

          “Well if we’re in this position, it’s your fault,” she retorted, “As I recall, you basically threw me into your bed. Who can’t resist who?” She wanted to mess with him. The hand that was still resting on his waist she dragged up underneath his shirt, letting her nails lightly scratch at his skin.

          “Don’t,” he said softly. His blue eyes were on fire.

          “Or what?” she whispered, planning on calling his bluff.

          He pulled her flush against his body, eliminating any minute amount of space that had remained between them. She took in a sharp breath at the motion, and at something else. Sandy could feel his erection between them, now pressing against her stomach. She looked up into his eyes and saw nothing but passion. She was speechless. Looking at him, her lips parted. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

          She exhaled slowly, not breaking eye contact as her mouth spread into a smirk. His blue eyes followed down to her lips, and he licked his own. The moment dragged on for a small eternity. Finally, he leaned down, bridging the gap between them, and pressed his lips to hers.

          The hand Sandy laid on his chest grabbed a handful of his shirt, trying to bring him even closer. His own moved from her back to her neck, holding her in place while their mouths moved together. She was acutely aware of how his thumb brushed softly across the skin there.

          It wasn’t the first time they’d kissed, but it felt different…better, more sincere. She melted like butter under his touch. They weren’t trying to distract security officers or piss off the Overseer. There were no witnesses to this moment, just them. She could stay in this moment all morning and not care. Instead, she pulled back, smiling.

          Butch didn’t want it to end either, it seemed. He leaned back in for more, but Sandy brought her hand up to his face, resting her fingertips on the side of his mouth. He made a frown, and she giggled.

          “We were just getting to the good part, doll,” he complained.

          She smiled, “I really should be getting home. Gotta get ready for work and all that.”

          “No,” he said. Butch leaned in and pressed his lips to her neck before moving up to her ear. “We’re not done here,” he whispered.

          He grabbed her and flipped them so she was lying over his chest, causing her to giggle again. He moved both his hands down to squeeze her ass, while at the same time she leaned down to kiss him again. It was deep and hungry, and he returned it fervently. He reached in between them and tried to pull down the zipper on her vault suit, something that was proving difficult with it pinned between them.

          Sandy chuckled and broke their kiss, rolling off him and sitting up. She looked around for her Pip-Boy. It was sitting on the coffee table where she had set it before falling asleep last night. She got out of bed and walked over to grab it, not without protest from Butch.

          “Sandy, where are you going?” he asked.

          She turned back to him, smiling, “I told you. I have to go home and shower. It’s…” she looked at her Pip-Boy “6:30 already.”

          “We could shower together, ya know, kill two birds with one stone and all that,” he suggested, moving to the edge of the bed and sitting up.

          “A mighty bold suggestion from my faux beau,” she laughed.

          His face turned sour, “Why do you always have to say it like that?” he snapped.

          Sandy was taken aback, and she recoiled. “I’m sorry, what?” His instant change in mood wasn’t sitting well with her.

          “Why do you gotta always bring up that stupid arrangement? We were having a good moment there, Sandy, in case you didn’t notice, but you’ve always gotta go and ruin them by announcing _out loud_ that none of this is real!”

          Her eyes widened, “Because—barring this morning—none of it is! It’s all been made up!”

          He flinched at that. “Well it’s just the two of us in the room, Sandra. So who are you saying that to, huh? Still trying to convince yourself?”

          “What are you so worked up about, Butch?!” she snapped back, “You agreed to this, we both agreed to a _pretend relationship.”_

          “I never said that,” he stated.

          “Yes, you did,” she insisted, “we agreed. You agreed every time.”

          “I never said ‘pretend,’ Sandy, that was all you. Think back on it, go ahead. Think back on every day over the last few weeks. It was always you. Yeah sure, I agreed, whatever, but it was you that stipulated ‘pretend,’” he shot back, maintaining eye contact.

          It took her a moment to understand what he was saying. She felt a little guilty for not noticing, but she also felt mad and a little deceived. “I’m sorry, did you think we were actually dating?!”

          He rolled his eyes, “No, Sandra, I’m not delusional. I knew that it was fake for you, but I never said it was for me. And if being your ‘faux beau,’” he mimicked her voice from earlier, “was what it took for us to spend more time together? I was okay with that. But now I’m not, alright? Because you’re clearly in denial! You wouldn’t look at me like you do, treat me the way you do, _kiss me like that_ if this was all still just a scheme to you!”

          She stared at him for a few moments while she processed what he said. Then she stared for a few more while she thought. _Oh my God. He might be…right. Is he saying that he…has…feelings? For me?_ “Why wouldn’t you say something?”

          He laughed. “Don’t be stupid, Sandy. You wouldn’t have believed me.”

          _He’s right,_ she thought, _I wouldn’t have. I’d have thought it another immature prank, or some kind of dumb joke. I spent so long thinking he hadn’t grown up… But it was me. I was the one holding onto our old feud. I was the immature one._

          She was quiet for another moment before she spoke, “So where does that leave us?”

          “I’m not gonna pretend anymore, doll,” he said plainly. “Either this thing is real, or it isn’t, and if it’s not, we’re done.”

          The enormity of what he was saying didn’t slip her mind. Today she either started dating Butch DeLoria for real, or she likely said goodbye to their entire friendship. She looked him in the eyes; for once, he was waiting patiently for her answer.

          In the end, there wasn’t even a question. She walked over to him, and pulled him in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!


End file.
